Cross My Heart
by Zuzuanni
Summary: Harry's 5th year, summer, and he's a little wacked out. First part of a trilogy spanning his final Hogwarts years. Chapter 4: Harry, flowers, and some rude comments about sensitive body parts! R
1. Prologue

Welcome to the first book in a planned trilogy! Cross My Heart, this first book, follows Harry through his fifth yearm through the eyes of many different characters, Harry included. Though I am a H/G shipper, there will be no H/G shippage this book, and I'm not promising a ton in the next. I simply did not want to try to put words in JKR's mouth. This is my own piece, using her as a springboard and keeping fairly close to canon.  
  
Several names you will see here that do not look familiar. They are mine. Everything you recognize belongs to the ever wonderful JKR.  
  
Most of this will be written in the first person. I will try to update every two to three weeks. I'm working on two other stories at the moment and I suffer from CPS (cronic procrastination syndrome). :) Those of you waiting ofr the next installment of Be With Me: It's on it's way, but I had never planned a second installment so it's fighting it's way out.  
  
Thanks for reading, and please review!!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------  
  
~We are the heroes of our own story.~ ~ Mary McCarthy  
  
~Saw your friend working in this hotel Says he used to know you when And your dreams lucky as they seemed They all turned their back on him Truth be known Truth be known Way I feel tonight living in this back street town 'Bout my dreams They all seem to fade as soon as I put my money down Truth be known When the fire that once was your friend burns your fingers to the bone And your song meets a sudden end Echoing through right and wrong Truth be known Truth be known ~ ~Neil Young, "Truth Be Known", Mirror Ball  
  
Prologue: Letter to the Editor  
  
The package was old, older than anything Graham had ever held in his hands before. He was afraid it would fall apart before his very eyes. Graham wondered where the man had gotten it. Graham wondered who the man was. Just this morning, in the midst of the office party celebrating the 200th anniversary of Lord Voldemort's defeat at the hands of Harry Potter, a huge man wearing a grey cloak and extremely old-fashioned leather garments and carrying a giant bow strode into the room and asked for Graham by name. Graham didn't fear much; he'd spent most of his life tracking down stories in places that weren't so nice, to put it mildly. But his man, this giant of a man (he didn't really look to have giant blood in him, but he was easily six foot ten) with a long auburn beard decorated with beads and braids and wearing a metal helm made him tremble in his boots. The crowd had parted to reveal Graham to the stranger (damn reporters, turn on you ever time!), and the made marched up to him and dragged him to the side of the room. Graham was visibly shaking by now, trying to think up which of the enemies he'd made over the course of his career would hire a hit man such as this. The man reached behind his back to pull something from underneath his full quiver of green feathered arrows, and Graham jumped when the object appeared over the man's shoulder.  
  
The man grinned. His voice was deep and amused. "Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Martin?"  
  
Graham relaxed into embarrassed anger. "Look, sir, I don't-"  
  
"Martin, this package is for you," the strange man interrupted. Graham looked down into the man's hands, which held a thick package, the shape of a large book, wrapped in dark cloth. "It has been in my family for two hundred mortal years, waiting for this moment, when I was to give it to you."  
  
Graham took the package in his hands. It wasn't cloth that the package was wrapped in, but rather soft leather. Graham looked up at the man. "What-"  
  
"It's the truth, Martin." The man seemed to enjoy interrupting him; maybe he knew Graham detested being interrupted. "That there's the truth, and you're going to tell it. And if you don't I'm going to hunt you, and your children, and your children's children, until you tell it. All of us will."  
  
"All of who?" Finally a whole thought! Graham had forgotten that he had no children, at least none he was aware of.  
  
"All the children of the Grey Queen. All that live."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Read it, Martin, and you'll understand." The man turned to leave. "Honour them, Martin. Honour us." And he was gone.  
  
Graham walked dazedly into his office, shut the door, and locked it. He sat down at his desk unwrapped the leather from the package. It was a book, a hand-bound book, written by hand, or by many different hands it seemed. Graham opened it to the first page. "Our Own Story" it read, and in smaller writing underneath "Heart of Hearts".  
  
Graham turned the paged and nearly leapt out of his chair, seeing his own name written in front of him.  
  
To Graham Martin, Editor-in-Chief, The Daily Prophet  
  
History lies.  
  
It isn't just about the old "History was written by the winners". Please. We're all smart enough to know that old standby is a half- truth in and of itself.  
  
History lies. It simply tells you about one individual, usually a man, and what he did, and then the man that followed him, and the one after him, and after that, and on and on down the line. But that man is never a person. He never has thoughts or feelings or emotions. He simply does, as if he were a machine, and all the correctionist non-fiction in the world never changes the fact that any more than a handful of people see the man as a human being and more than just a hero and clear-sighted innovator.  
  
History leaves no room for faults. History doesn't see in color, but rather in black and white without any shades of grey. History doesn't feel. History doesn't think. History never doubts. History doesn't know. History doesn't believe.  
  
History lies. History pretends. History distorts the truth to meet the needs of those in charge of information and the needs of those in power.  
  
History as painted Harry Potter as brave and strong and powerful, noble to a fault, never doubting, always faithful to the light, always confident, always loved, not wanting for a thing in the world. He was a boy with the mind of a grown man, responsible and hardworking and mature. He was patient and kind and he loved small children and furry animals and though he lost his parents when he was very young he loved easily and was always an easy soul.  
  
History lies.  
  
Harry Potter was a boy. He wasn't always brave in the traditional sense, but he knew that real bravery was doing what you need to do even when terribly afraid, so in that sense he was brave. But Harry wasn't strong, not always. He wasn't terribly patient, but he was very kind. Harry was plagued by doubts and fears. He certainly was noble to a fault. He was horribly responsible too, but in that he felt that everyone else was his responsibility. Harry was a boy; he wasn't mature all the time. He worked as hard as he needed to on what he deemed unimportant, and pushed himself in areas that he knew he would need; Dark Arts and Charms and the like. He was overprotective of his friends, he was filled with self- loathing, he nearly lost his mind, he nearly joined the dark, he jumped to conclusions and he hated attention.  
  
Harry Potter was real. Harry Potter was human. He was a great man, but he was only a man.  
  
It has been two hundred years now, to the day, since Voldemort was defeated for the last time, and one hundred years since the last major player in the Dark Lord's defeat died. Now is the time when the truth cannot hurt anyone. Now is the time when people can see Harry for what he was.  
  
I lived during Harry's time, though not long enough to see the fall of Voldemort. But I knew it would come, and I knew what history would do to the story. Nothing is gained from half a picture. In order to truly learn from the past we must strive to see the whole story. In this regard I took the steps necessary to piece together the real truth of the fall of Voldemort, as seen through the eyes of those who lived it.  
  
People need to know the real Harry. They need to know his friends, his enemies, his mentors, his faults, and his blessings. They need to know the person.  
  
When you read this, know that I have been gone more than two hundred years. Not a day will go by from now as I write until the day I die (there are 15 of them) that I won't hope to God I'm wrong about my death, but my death doesn't change your need to know.  
  
Let people know who we were. Let them have to truth. The great Albus Dumbledore himself once said, "I believe the truth is preferable to lies."  
  
The greatest what to honor us is to tell them our true story. Let us be the heroes we were. Honor Harry Potter, who never wanted the glory and fame that stalked him all his life. Honor Ron Weasley, who always wanted his own spotlight while smothered in the shadows of his loved ones. Honor Hermione Granger, who was the brains behind Harry's talent. Honor Albus Dumbledore, who twice saved the world from the threats of Dark Wizards. Honor Severus Snape, who made the mistake of becoming a Death Eater and subsequently risked his life innumerable times to assist the forces that stood against Lord Voldemort. Honor Rubeus Hagrid, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagol, Arabella Figg, and Mundungus Fletcher. Honor Arthur and Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Virginia Weasley, Bill and Charlie Weasley, and Fred and George "Founders of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes International" Weasley. Honor Hafiz Nuada and Selene Hayes, Michael, Jessie, Rhiannon, and Kenneth Flynn. Honor Graislaine Whiterose and all of her brothers. Honor me.  
  
This here, sitting on your desk, is a collection of our thoughts, our words, our feeling, our hopes and dreams and desires. You have in front of you everything we were.  
  
On this day, two hundred years to the day Lord Voldemort was defeated, honor us as we deserve. Remember us as we were.  
  
This is our truth. Cross my heart.  
  
Good Luck,  
  
Maeve Flynn  
  
Graham Martin sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath as he did so. He ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair. Maeve Flynn. The name was not familiar, but Maeve herself (if this was genuine) seemed to imply that was the point. Everyone knew the name Weasley; the family own two separate companies and was one of the oldest and wealthiest wizard families in all the world, along with the Malfoys and the Potters. Ron Weasley, name wasn't very familiar, but there were so many Weasleys it was impossible to keep track. Draco Malfoy...well, he had to have been that one that sided with Dumbledore, no other Malfoys before him were worth mentioning. Graham was familiar with Selene Hayes, only because his mother had had an obsession with divination. Graislaine Whiterose, well, you would have to be stupid not to remember her. Half the art depicting the fall of Voldemort showed her in varying states of undress. Graham himself particularly liked the one where her...ah well, there would be plenty of time spent researching her in order to verify this- this- this thing.  
  
Most of these people, though, Graham had hardly ever heard of. Sirius Black he was familiar with. That must have been quite a story when that broke: "Convicted Potter Killer Cleared! Dead Man Lives!" Remus Lupin...it rang a bell somewhere. Graham had never heard of any of these Flynns, or Hafiz Nuada, or Severus Snape or Minerva McGonagol or Arabella Figg or Mundungus Fletcher.  
  
But Graham had to admit, he was interested, and not simply because the world was still obsessed with Harry Potter. Slap his name on anything and it would fly off the shelves. And more than a few women in fashion and seamier magazines (and one or two that Graham dated) used charms to mimic Graislaine Whiterose's appearance. Red hair was quite fashionable too.  
  
No, Graham was interested for other reasons. Graham was a reporter, but he took it more seriously than that. It wasn't about the scoop, it wasn't about telling a tale that would sell. It was about telling a story that people wanted to know. It was about telling the truth. Graham had often found that the truth was far more interesting than what people read in the papers. The truth was about insider and local politics, about social structures and inside deals. The truth was about selfish people and the innocent victims. It wasn't black and white, cut and dry. It wasn't ink on a page like the public saw every morning on the corner, folded up neatly and costing ten knuts.  
  
Graham had a thirst for knowledge about people. It was why he did what he did. It was why he was so good at it. He didn't want gossip; he wanted a story that people cared about. He wanted the extra bit, the human side. Graham liked that darkness in the soul, and he loved that shining moment where people showed what they were worth. It wasn't always good, and to fulfil his part as a jaded newspaperman Graham would often say that it was almost never good, that good was an anomaly, but deep inside Graham was a softie. Graham loved the tale of the underdog, the good thief, the saved soul, the redeemed sinner, just as much as he liked the tale of the guy who got what was coming.  
  
More than anything, Graham loved a story, and in his hands, no matter which way he threw it, no matter whether it was a fabulous truth or an ingenious hoax, this was a story.  
  
Graham made his decision. He turned the page.  
  
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Next up: We go back over two hundred years to the summer before Harry's fifth year! And Graham won't be coming back for a very long time. As for Maeve Flynn, she's a fair ways off too. In so many ways! 


	2. Harry

Here we are, chapter one of this thing. I'm rather pleased with myself. I got it out before Christmas! I fought it out for my one and only reviewer, the wonderful and very flattering BlackDragon, who's kind word were giant inspiration. This isn't a hugely active chapter; it's mostly insight into Harry's state of mind, which is why it's a little confusing and jumpy. Hopefully it lives up to the standard I set in the prologue, but I don't quite think so. Tell me what you think. I can assure you the next chapter is much more eventful and straight forward. So please, read and review!  
  
Oh and disclaimer: If I own this, I wouldn't need a disclaimer. The song's by Phil Ochs.  
  
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I don't know  
  
But it seems that every single dream's  
  
Painted pretty pictures in the air  
  
And it tumbles in despair  
  
And it starts to bend  
  
Until by the end its a nightmare  
  
But I'm gonna give all I've got to give  
  
Cross my heart, and I hope to live  
  
I don't know But I feel the safety isn't real, with everybody acting all the same Or the rules will ruin the game So I'll go my way, laughing while they say that I'm insane.  
  
Yes- I'm gonna give all I've got to give Cross my heart, and I hope to live  
  
I don't know But I find the speedy hands of time waving out a warning on the wall But nobody heeds the call And the soldier obeys while the parson prays for his downfall.  
  
But- I'm gonna give all I've got to give Cross my heart, and I hope to live  
  
I don't know  
  
But it's true, so many things you do  
  
Please you so they leave feeling warm  
  
It's the calm before the storm  
  
For the habit grows and before you know it you're deformed  
  
Yes I'm gonna give all I've got to give  
  
Cross my heart, and I hope to live  
  
I don't know  
  
But I see that every thing is free  
  
When you're young and treasures you can take  
  
But the bridge is gonna break  
  
You reach the end screaming  
  
"It's all been a mistake";  
  
But I'm gonna give all I've got to give  
  
Cross my heart, and I hope to live  
  
I don't know  
  
But it seems that every single dream's  
  
painted pretty pictures in the air  
  
Then it tumbles in despair  
  
And it starts to bend  
  
Until by the end its a nightmare  
  
Oh I'm gonna give all I've got to give  
  
Cross my heart, and I hope to live  
  
  
  
  
  
Reasons I hate Summer:  
  
1. I live with the Dursleys.  
  
2. They locked me in my room for a week when I got home from school.  
  
3. They let me out to do housework.  
  
4. Dudley's an idiot.  
  
5. Vernon's an idiot.  
  
6. Aunt Petunia must have invented the word "obnoxious" to describe herself.  
  
7. The food is terrible.  
  
8. Snape is a sadistic bastard. This is the most impossible potions essay I have ever seen.  
  
9. All Ron and Hermione talk about in their letters is each other. Unless Hermione is talking about O.W.L.s.  
  
10. There are 338 individual windowpanes at the Dursleys, and I've cleaned every last one of them. Twice.  
  
11. Dirt from the garden is permanently embedded in my fingernails.  
  
12. I have this white streak on my arm from where I painted the fence, and it won't go away.  
  
13. I got a burn from the washcloth where Aunt Petunia tried to scrub the paint off of me.  
  
14. There's this evil wizard after me who wants to kill me for reasons that no one will tell me and now I've got to stay here when I'd much rather be at Ron's house where people actually like me and want to have me around.  
  
  
  
My list probably could have continued indefinitely, but my pen had run out of ink. Sighing, I sat back and pushed the paper to the side. It was a good place to stop anyway.  
  
Since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia locked me in here when I first got back, I started writing things down. Not like a diary or anything, just kind of something to keep me company. I had little piles of papers and parchments all over the room, filled with lists and half-coherent ramblings. They all had titles too, like "Reasons Why I'm Not Responsible for Cedric's Death" and "Reasons Why I Am Responsible for Cedric's Death" and "One Hundred and One Ways to Capture Peter Pettigrew and Free Sirius", which began with "1. Get a large mousetrap and a camera" and ended with "101. Invite Voldemort and his Death Eaters to the Circus and hope that Wormtail is the only one dumb enough to show up. Get trained lion to eat him." My personal favourite was a list entitled "Nasty Personal Habits that Cornelius Fudge Probably Partakes In".  
  
Solitary confinement was doing wonders for my sanity.  
  
It only lasted a week, though, which was good. Apparently the Dursleys decided that I was more useful doing housework than I was sitting in my room. That and the neighbours had started asking after me.  
  
I was shocked that anyone had noticed. They must have seen me out working in the yard one of the few times that I was let out. It was only my second week home, and my first week out of my room, and already several different neighbours asked me for my help around their houses. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia tried to protest, telling them I was no good, that I went to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, and that I was mixed up in all kinds of nasty things. Mrs Weasley told Uncle Vernon about the Tri-Wizard Tournament; I had wondered why she was standing so close to him when I got off of the train. Even though she had apologised for Fred and George feeding Dudley a Ton-Tongue Toffee, the Dursleys still held me responsible. As soon as I was in the car on the way home from the station, Uncle Vernon was shouting at me for exposing Dudley to "those people" and for killing Cedric.  
  
As if I had needed him to blame me too.  
  
I knew it really wasn't my fault. I couldn't have known that the Cup was a portkey. I knew that I couldn't have, but every time I thought that, a little voice in the back of my head said, "But you should have. You should have known. You were so focused on winning, so focused on beating Cedric, that you forgot that the whole Tournament was a set up. You forgot that some one was after you. You never really even tried to figure out who wanted you dead, or why, did you? You just thought that it was cut and dry 'Kill the Boy Who Lived', didn't you? Well you won, Potter. Does it feel any better?"  
  
The voices in my head are full of eloquent recriminations. I looked that word up in one of the dictionaries Dudley never opened. My bedroom was filled with books that Dudley had never read or wanted. I'd read quite a few of them during my time locked in my room.  
  
It was all part of my master plan, or rather, the only plan I had. The way I saw it, I had two options: sit on my arse and wait for Voldemort to get me, or get ready. I knew he was coming either way.  
  
Couldn't really think of a good reason to get ready, other than that I needed to. Somewhere along the line during my four years at Hogwarts I absorbed that crazy idea that everyone else had; Harry Potter was the only thing standing between Voldemort and World Domination.  
  
Did that mean I was closer to world domination than Voldemort?  
  
I shook that thought from my head quickly. I didn't want world domination, no matter who was dominating. I wanted to live in a cave, and maybe play Quidditch and see Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys and Sirius every once in a while.  
  
Well, sometimes I did, so long as it had a comfortable bed. Those four poster beds at Hogwarts spoiled me. Took me ages to get used to sleeping on something so soft, and now I love it. All I really need is a quality mattress.  
  
In retrospect, that sounds kind of bad.  
  
Anyhow, there was a plan, and it did not involve living in a dirty cave and sleeping on a comfortable mattress there. I promised myself as I got off of the Hogwarts Express at the end of last term that I would be ready for him when he came. Ready was loosely defined as anything that was smarter, stronger, faster, and more capable than I was, which was not very at all, in my opinion.  
  
I practically felt like I was turning into Hermione, what with all my reading and whatnot. I had finished all my homework during my week locked in my room, except for that stupid potions essay. I wanted that thing perfect, and it was hard.  
  
  
  
How to Get Ready for Voldemort  
  
1. Learn curses.  
  
2. Find out why he wants to kill me in the first place.  
  
3. Get stronger. (See "How to Get Stronger" list)  
  
4. Learn Everything. (See "How to Get Really Smart Before School Starts Again" list)  
  
5. Think smarter (See "How to Get Really Smart Before School Starts Again" list)  
  
  
  
When you have to cross-reference your lists, you know you have a problem.  
  
I was doing really well on pretty much everything on that list besides number 2. Granted I didn't know everything, and I still looked like a twelve-year-old, but that was all right, because I had developed these really scarily disproportionate arm muscles. When my arms were relaxed I looked like a toothpick, but when I flexed my biceps I looked like I was wearing a too-tight shirt stuffed with soup cans.  
  
I flexed for myself everyday after my shower. It made me feel better, even if I did look like a fool.  
  
I looked at the clock. I had an hour before I had to be at the Colemans' house to help them with their attic. I might as well get some reading done. I picked up my Defence Against the Dark Arts book and began to review, but my mind wasn't on the reading.  
  
  
  
Reasons Why Voldemort Might Have Wanted to Kill Me in the First Place  
  
1. Dad and Mum were up to something that he didn't like.  
  
2. He didn't like Potter males for some reason- said he wouldn't kill Mum.  
  
  
  
That's all I had come up with so far. Two stupid, measly little reasons. Why in the world Voldemort would come to Godric's Hollow, where ever that-  
  
Godric's Hollow. Godric Gryffindor? And where had I heard that before?  
  
I dropped my Defence book and dashed to my trunk. I hadn't been making much progress in my revisions anyway. I threw open my trunk and dug through it to find the book I was looking for. There it was, Quidditch Through the Ages. I'd reread this for the umpteenth time just last week. I was sure I'd seen.  
  
There. Bowman Wright. Specialized in charming metals. I couldn't really see the point in specializing in that. Besides snitches, what else would you want to charm? Maybe fences, gates, hinges. You could charm knives, I supposed. All right, there were a lot of metal things you could charm. Whatever.  
  
Bowman Wright of Godric's Hollow. Well, I didn't know if there were any Wrights in my family. I doubted Aunt Petunia would know, and she probably wouldn't tell me if she did.  
  
Godric's Hollow must be a town, then, a village of some kind. It wasn't just the name of my parents' house, if other people lived there too. For some reason when I had found out my parents had lived in Godric's Hollow I had thought of it as some kind of cottage-type place, set in a nice wooded clearing miles away from everything. Of course it was large, but now manor large, but large enough for several people to live there comfortably. Plus, it couldn't have been their regular home. I mean, they wouldn't have been stupid enough to live where they always had, would they?  
  
They lived in a town. I found a pen that still had ink and added this to my list of things I knew about my parents.  
  
What I Know About My Parents  
  
1. Dad was an animagus- stag  
  
2. His wand was mahogany, good for transfiguration according to Olivander  
  
3. Mum's wand was willow, good for charms acc. to Olivander  
  
4. They were head boy and girl  
  
5. I look just like Dad, except for Mom's eyes.  
  
6. Dad's friends were Sirius, Remus, and Peter (the bastard)  
  
7. Mum's family were all Muggles until her.  
  
8. Dad's family was magic.  
  
9. Dad was a nice person.  
  
10. Hagrid says Dad and Mum were some of the nicest people he knew.  
  
11. Dad had an invisibility cloak, which are rare, so his family must have had money.  
  
12. Dad and Mum left me a lot of money, so they must have had good jobs.  
  
13. Dad had a big sense of humour.  
  
14. Dad hated Snape, but saved him anyway, which is why Snape hates me.  
  
15. Dad and Mum lived in Godric's Hollow- a town  
  
Having written the hyphen and two words, I set down my pen and stared at the list. It barely told me anything. I didn't know what they liked or didn't, besides Snape. I knew that they were "nice" and probably smart, but still stupid enough to hide in a town. I thought of writing to Sirius.  
  
I checked the clock. No time. I was due at the Colemans in five minutes.  
  
I would have plenty of time for writing letters when I was done there. It wasn't as if the Dursleys wanted me for any stimulating conversation.  
  
  
  
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Yes, I know that wizards use quills and ink, but it's convenient for Harry to use a Muggle pen, plus I'll explain a bit more later. Next chapter contains at least one Weasley! 


	3. Hafiz

Yeah, not mine, don't sue. Song is by Bob Dylan.  
  
This is the beta'd version of Chapter 2. I like it much better now. Thanks to Kalar'i Kupua for the amazing beta!  
  
[i]Well it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe  
  
If you don't know by now  
  
An' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe  
  
It'll never do somehow  
  
When your rooster crows at the break o' dawn  
  
Look out your window and I'll be gone  
  
You're the reason I'm trav'lin' on  
  
But don't think twice, it's all right  
  
And it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe  
  
That light I never knowed  
  
An' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe  
  
I'm on the dark side of the road  
  
But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say  
  
To try and make me change my mind and stay  
  
We never did too much talkin' anyway  
  
on't think twice, it's all right  
  
So it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal  
  
Like you never done before  
  
And it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal  
  
I can't hear you any more  
  
I'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' walkin' down the road  
  
I once loved a woman, a child I am told  
  
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul  
  
Don't think twice, it's all right  
  
So long honey babe  
  
Where I'm bound, I can't tell  
  
Goodbye's too good a word, babe  
  
So I'll just say fare thee well  
  
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind  
  
You could have done better but I don't mind  
  
You just kinda wasted my precious time  
  
Don't think twice, it's all right [/i]  
  
Chapter 2: Hafiz  
  
I had expected Bill for lunch, but he sent an owl saying he was held up at work, so he wouldn't be coming home until dinnertime. Having finished my morning exercise and meditations, I hummed distractedly as I flipped through some books. I was trying to find articles for my apprentice to study when she got back. It seemed that whenever I thought of my student I made more noise than usual. It was her influence, I knew. She refused to do anything quietly unless it was absolutely necessary. I would have forced her to do more practice in quiet activities if she wasn't so superbly stealthy already.  
  
I shouldn't be so influenced by my student, but we had spent the better part of two years together, and she was a very, very strong personality. Or at least, she projected a very strong personality. She had become like a little sister to me. Singing was one of my student's favourite things. I wanted to kill her half the time just to shut her up. Especially since she knew the words to every single New Kids On the Block song. If you can call "The Right Stuff" a song. She had learned them specifically to annoy me.  
  
"Oh, oh, oh, oh-oh. Oh, oh, oh-oh." Yes, my apprentice would have her work cut out for her when she got back. Although I had a feeling I wouldn't be hearing Joey, Jon, Jordan, Donnie, and Danny for quite a while. My student would probably take a long while to become anything resembling the happy, slightly psychotic teenager I knew, and even if she were only on a holiday and nothing had changed, my student had discovered metal, grunge, and punk music, and I wasn't sure that I liked it more than those insipid juvenile Bostonian miscreants.  
  
I had called those New Kid boys that once in front of her and to my surprise she had pouted rather than laughed. "But I'm an insipid juvenile Bostonian miscreant."  
  
She then laughed at the embarrassed look on my face.  
  
I picked up my wand and turned on the stereo that my student had rigged to work with magic. Things were far too quiet without her. She stomped and shouted and swore like a sailor fluent in twelve languages. She laughed at and with everything and she insulted anything that moved and most of what didn't.  
  
But there was a very good thing about my student's absence, even if the circumstances were horrible. With my student back with her family, I could spend plenty of time with Bill and not worry about her waltzing in on us, playing Pachelbel's Canon on a kazoo and throwing rice.  
  
She did that once, the first time Bill spent the night at our place. She was wearing a doily on her head and these tacky stiletto heels she had transfigured for herself out of a pair of bunny slippers- and the shoes still had floppy ears and a cotton tail to show for it. She had paired the doily and shoes with bright red reindeer socks and smelly gym shorts. She toasted us with sparkling cider and I hexed her out of the room. Bill very nearly died laughing.  
  
Bill. I smiled just thinking about him. He was absolutely perfect, and in ways I had never thought I'd want. He was tall, but very fair, covered in freckles and red hair. He had fabulous and expensive taste, too. He wore these dragon hide boots and nice, expensive, but not flashy, robes. His hair was long and his ear was pierced. I think that's why my student pointed him out to me in the first place. She's a sucker for people with too many holes in their bodies.  
  
Me, I usually went for punks myself, but I liked hygiene. Most of the men I had dated before Bill had more holes than nature had given them at birth. I wouldn't have defined myself as punk per se, but it was definitely more my realm than the New Kids were. I preferred classical and chamber music, with a bit of classic rock thrown in (Zeppelin!) It was the whole punk mindset that interested me, that "Damn the Man!" idealism mixed with a "Fuck the World" cynicism that I found very alluring. Not to mention the vinyl pants and combat boots.  
  
My apprentice listened to anything and everything, except for that soft rock, Boys II Men-type stuff, but her true fondness was for the edgy rock musics like punk and grunge. But I had found that the music itself could be rather... repetitive? And there was a certain lack of showering that concerned me. When I discussed this with my student she said that I had no right to be mean about her punk rock, because punk songs were only supposed to truly vary in their lyrics. I told her punk music was fine; I could handle three power chords mixed with a diatribe about Reganism and Star Wars. Even grunge I could deal with, because there was usually some kind of point. But these Metallica people...were they always so unhappy? Didn't they ever wash their hair?  
  
She replied that she didn't listen to music for the hygiene. Besides, she pointed out, I had once said that Axl Rose was very attractive. I reminded her that she had gotten me very, very sloshed so that I would be fooled into signing her permission form for more piercings.  
  
"In vino veritas, Fizzy!" She laughed. I never should have taught her Latin.  
  
Bill had actually been very helpful in my apprentice's education. She had a very rebellious nature; it was half the reason she had been placed with me and most of the reason we got on so well. I hadn't taken so well to my training either. Guardians in the Sisterhood give up much more of their lives than anyone else. Most of our order live rather ordinary lives; Guardians, in a word, don't.  
  
But Bill, even though he didn't really know why she travelled with me as opposed to going to a traditional school of witchcraft, like the Salem Institute where most of her old friends went, was good with her. When she complained about studying runes or struggled with gemmology, Bill was patient. Even if he didn't understand something himself- that wasn't often, he was very talented- he still walked her through it step by step until they both understood it. Bill had told me he had a brother, Ron, who was the same age as my student. There were far fewer temper tantrums with Bill around.  
  
He was soothing for me, too. I smiled over a picture of a vampire demon, remembering the first time Bill had shown up at our apartment in Alexandria. I had gotten a job (that I didn't particularly need but was rather interested in) as a free-lancer with Gringotts, and I ended up working with a rather dashing man by the name of Bill Weasley. To my utmost surprise when I showed up for my first day, he was the very man my student had pointed out the day before at a cafe. We had worked together for a week before he showed up at our apartment unannounced with Chinese take-out.  
  
Bill had knocked at the door right when my student and I had been in the middle of a particularly fierce combat training session. The living room of the apartment was spelled against damage from any training sessions. I had lost one too many vases to misplaced curses and miscalculated lunges. Not to mention Miv always manages to cut herself when she accidently breaks something. But a training battle with Miv always gets a little wild. She was still young enough get carried away when she was particularly excited, but seeing as neither of us would ever seriously injure the other, we didn't worry too much.  
  
The session was so loud though that we didn't hear Bill knock; and he heard the sounds of things crashing around inside the apartment, so he though I was being attacked and rushed in, wand blazing, blasted the door clean off of its hinges and tried to stupefy Miv. Both Miv and I thought we were being attacked by Lady-Knows-What, and Miv activated the security stunner that I had installed on the wall, which automatically stuns everyone in the room except the person who activated it. It wasn't as if we lived in a nice part of Cairo.  
  
When my student finally found the decency to wake me up to confirm Bill's story about being my co-worker, Bill was tied to a chair and chatting merrily with Miv, whose spot at the table was surrounded with open boxes of Chinese food and all of her potion testing equipment. She apparently had felt the need to test the take out for poisons before feeding it to herself and Bill, who was being spoon fed by my apprentice. They seemed to be getting along fine, except for the fact that Bill was strapped to the chair with 200 feet of climbing rope and he was sporting an icepack on his head.  
  
"Look, Fizz!" my apprentice had cried excitedly when I sat up groggily. "Your hot, alleged co-worker brought us Vegetarian Delight and scallion pancakes! There's cashew chicken too, if you want some." I assured her that Bill was, in fact, my co-worker and very much on the up and up.  
  
Bill had invited us to go to England with him when he went to visit his family in June. Apparently his younger brother's best friend was participating in a tournament up there, and Bill's parents had practically adopted the boy. Bill said the boy, named Harry, hardly had any family, and Bill's mother would have taken him in if the Headmaster had let her. I didn't really understand why the Headmaster would have say in the boy's custody, but then Bill had told me that Harry was really Harry Potter. I still didn't fully understand it, but I knew that Harry Potter was a rather important person in our world, though I didn't really have the best understanding as an American who had always been rather separate from the contemporary wizarding world.  
  
I would have gone with him, too, but my student balked. She said she was sure England was a lovely place, and that it would be interesting to see a real wizard school, but she didn't want to. When I asked her why, her eyes got very dark, and it seemed as if the tan she had acquired in the hot African sun fled her face.  
  
"I can't go England, Fizz," she had whispered. I remember it was at night when she told me, and I felt as if all the shadows and curses and terrible dark things that Egypt held were crawling up around the corner to come after me. "England will be the death of me."  
  
I had tried to laugh it off. "Oh, come on now, Miv. They don't kill Irish girls the way they used to."  
  
"I can't, Fizzy. England will kill me."  
  
I hated the tingly feeling she was giving me. When my student was serious, she was frightening. "Hogwarts isn't in England," I snapped. "It's in Scotland."  
  
She very nearly rolled her eyes at me. "Did you even read my report on Muggle Celts of the Middle Ages? Haven't you heard of William Wallace, of the Norman conquests and the Saxon kings? Do we need to go over Prima Nocte and the murders of over 8 million Irish women and their first born daughters?"  
  
I then reminded her that my own father had been a British wizard. She countered that "Hafiz" was not a very British name, and that he had been a half-Egyptian, half-Welsh financier who had married a French woman who was a Spanish citizen before moving to America, which said something about my father's British pride.  
  
This was why my own mentor had warned me about getting too close to my student.  
  
It didn't matter anymore though. Bill had gone to Egypt, my student came down with a suspicious "disease" that rendered us unable to travel, and that was it. Bill came back several days late and looking rather pale and shaky. He didn't even go to his apartment first, but came straight to ours. When I opened to door to find him there he didn't even say a word. He simply took me in his arms and held me for a long time. My student wasn't home; she had had to return to the States for the funeral.  
  
"I love you," he had whispered to me. "I love you." He had never said it before.  
  
I pulled him to the table and sat him down. Miv and I collected tea. Her particular favorite was a chamomile blend that she drank to help calm herself before bedtime. I recently began having her drink it before training sessions, and it seemed to improve her focus. She bought that tea in bulk, but I knew she wouldn't mind sharing it with Bill.  
  
As he drank Miv's tea, he told me the whole story. About the maze, and the false Defence teacher, and how the darkest wizard of the modern world had risen once more. As he told me everything, I felt a chill clench around my heart, and my student's words echoed in my head. "England will be the death of me."  
  
When he was done, I embraced him again. "I love you, Bill." He held me tighter. "We'll be all right."  
  
It had been two weeks since then, and I hadn't heard a word from the Sisterhood. My student was due back in a couple days; Bill was over almost everyday. I knew he worried about the events in England, and I was almost sure he was going to ask for a transfer back. I dreaded it.  
  
A large bird flew through the window suddenly. It settled on the desk, and I recognised it immediately with a sinking, cold heart. It was a red kite, found mostly in Wales now, and I knew to whom it belonged. It was my old mentor Rhonwen's bird, Deryn. With trembling hands I pulled the letter off of Deryn's leg and opened it.  
  
"Hafiz,  
  
"The heir of Slytherin has risen once more. You are to protect the Phoenix until his power comes to full. We have arranged for you to take a post at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please return to Wales with your student at once for details.  
  
Rhonwen"  
  
That was all. Everything I had hoped for since November was gone. All because of some stupid ancient tradition that I was locked into. The letter fell from my hand. My only thought was of Bill. How could I explain this to him? All this time I had been worried he would leave me, and now...  
  
The door opened. Bill walked through, carrying a large, gorgeous bundle of orchids and wearing a huge smile on his face. Instantly my tears spilled over. Bill dropped the flowers and ran to me.  
  
"Lia? Lia, what's wrong? What is it?" he asked, gripping my hands tightly, but I couldn't bear to tell him. I didn't know how to tell him. How to tell him I was leaving and couldn't tell him why or where. I shook my head, trying to wipe my tears away, then leaned forward to kiss him softly. My mouth lingered near his, and I came back for another. He kissed me back, and as he held me something deep inside of me decided that he wasn't close enough. My hands pushed at his robes, but didn't really try to take them off of him, and then, with an odd, slow kind of desperation he pulled me back into the apartment, into the bedroom.  
  
Perhaps that's what I loved best about Bill. Not the forwardness. I loved the way he always knew what I needed. But as much as I trusted him, I couldn't tell him that I had to leave. I didn't know how to tell him that I could never see him again, and that he could never know why.  
  
I shouldn't have ended it that way. I shouldn't have let him give me what I wanted. But I was so afraid; afraid of leaving him, of what he would say; afraid for my first actual Guardianship, of taking my first, and likely last, I added a comma here charge; afraid for my fragile apprentice, who was positive England would kill her, even before her life had shattered two weeks ago.  
  
"England will be the death of me." Those words echoed in my head. My apprentice had always been a bit prescient. Her mother had been a brilliant Seer, before her mind began to implode and insanity began its hold over her. My apprentice, though, she had a bit of the Sight herself, even if she didn't fully trust it yet. With her most recent vision...I wasn't sure that her vision of her friend's death would reassure her of her talents.  
  
"England will kill me." If England held death of my student, what did it hold for me?  
  
All I wanted was Bill, but as I lay there in the dark, tears formed in my eyes. Bill had done what I had needed; I had needed him, as close to me as I could get. He had reassured me of his love, but it was his love I could never have. Rhonwen had warned me about falling in love.  
  
"Fool girl!" she had growled once when I had snuck home at two in the morning. "You think that life's about friends and fun and falling in love! Ha! Your life's never about that, child. Your life's about your charge, whether or not you have one. You always have to be ready, child, and a man, any man, will stand in your way. They can't know about us, child, what would you tell him?"  
  
"But some men know. They have to!" I had protested. "Husbands and sons of other-"  
  
"Idiot!" Rhonwen had snarled. "Sure, some know a few things. But they don't know our mysteries. They don't know about the Guardians. A charge should never know he's guarded."  
  
"Yours did!"  
  
"Aye, mine did," Rhonwen conceded grudgingly. "And it almost killed him and his family! Trust me, child, romantic attachments get charges killed. It's happened before. Guenevere. Delilah-"  
  
"She was greedy!"  
  
"Still an attachment! Don't you understand! If you must attach to something, attach to your charge! Because that's where your life lies. With your charge. Whoever that may be."  
  
Rhonwen's words echoed in my head. For years I had been so good at remembering them, but the moment I met Bill, they just flew out the window. Well, maybe once or twice in that first week I heard them, but Bill just swept me away, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.  
  
I turned over to study his face, to memorise it. His hair had fallen out of its clasp and was swirled around his face. His finely chiselled cheekbones, that hollow above his jaw, the freckles. He was meticulous about caring for? Taking care of? his mouth; it was smooth and soft. I touched it gently, memorising its shape. I was meticulous about his hands; I always gave him hand massages, rubbing lotions into them and then filing the nails. Before he met me, he had this terrible habit of picking at the sides of his finger nails whenever he worked on a particularly difficult problem. I'd mostly broken him of it.  
  
I smiled sadly at those hands, taking one of them in my own. They were strong hands, roughened slightly from Quidditch before I had gotten a hold of them. Bill played as often as he could. He had been a Chaser while at Hogwarts, and two of his brothers played on the team there. A third, Charlie, had been a seeker. Bill's hands were smooth then from all the work I had done on them.  
  
"Lia?" He whispered softly. Tears sprang to my eyes again. His voice was so gentle. It was deep and warm, and when he spoke it was if I had drank an entire mug of Miv's special hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and whipped cream. For the first time, though, it hurt me to hear him say my name. "Lia, what is it? Tell me what's wrong."  
  
"I can't," I said very quietly. My voice caught on my tears. Bill wet his fingertips on my face. I shivered at his touch. "I can't tell you."  
  
"Lia," he started, but I cut him off.  
  
"I'm leaving, Bill. I'm leaving Egypt."  
  
"So am I. Come with me. Come back to England with me."  
  
Any control I had was gone at that point. "I can't," I sobbed. "I can't go to England with you."  
  
"Why not? Because of Miv? She can come too. It will be the three of us. We can get a flat in London, and-"  
  
"No, Bill, I can't. I can't go with you." I fought my way through the sheets and started fumbling for my robe.  
  
Bill sat up and watched me in silence for a moment. "Why not?"  
  
"Because I can't!" I snapped. "I can't go with you to England, Bill."  
  
"Why not, Hafiz? What's keeping you in Egypt?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm leaving Egypt."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I can't tell you."  
  
"Can't tell me? What the hell is going on, Hafiz?" Bill stood up and started getting his own clothes on, following me around the room in the process. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Away, Bill." I turned to face him. "And I can't tell you where, or why, or what I'm doing, and I'll probably never see you again and I'm sorry!" I couldn't keep my sobbing at bay any longer. "I'm sorry, Bill! I'm so sorry I can't tell you anything. I'm sorry!"  
  
"Lia, please, you can tell me anything." Bill held me by my shoulders. I refused to look up at him.  
  
"I can't, Bill, I can't tell you this."  
  
"What is so terrible that you can't tell me?"  
  
"This isn't about you, Bill!" I shouted, tearing myself out of his hold. "This isn't about you! This is something I have to do! I have to go! And it's my own damn business if I can't tell you! Now stop trying to make this all just go away and get the hell out!"  
  
"Make what go away, Lia?" Bill bit back. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Nothing, Bill. Just...nothing. Just go." I turned away again. I stormed out into the kitchen to find my wand. I needed to pack. I need to get the hell out of Egypt as quickly as I could.  
  
"Go where, Lia?" Bill yelled after me. He followed me into the kitchen. "Lia. Lia!"  
  
Bill grabbed my arm like a vice. "Let go of me, Bill." I tried pulling away again but without luck. "Bill, you're hurting me!"  
  
"What is going on, Lia? What the hell has got you so bloody rattled?" He shook me like a doll. For the first time I was actually frightened. I knew he'd never hurt me, but the look on his face was so desperate. I hated myself. "Lia, please," he begged, his voice softer. "I love you so much. Just tell me, Li. Please. I love you."  
  
Some one hates me. Whatever supposedly benign deity that's watching out for us hates me, I was absolutely sure of it. Why else would I have to do this. What Goddess was worth this? There was no other possible explanation.  
  
I forced myself to meet Bill's eyes. Gods, those fabulous eyes. "I don't." I whispered brokenly.  
  
Bill shook his head, thinking perhaps he hadn't heard me correctly. "What?"  
  
"I don't," I repeated, my voice only marginally stronger. "I don't love you."  
  
"You- you what?" He backed away from me. I thought that he might start crying himself.  
  
"I don't love you, Bill. I don't want to go to England with you. I don't want to go anywhere with you. Sorry I wasted your time. Now please, just leave." I couldn't bear to watch him anymore. That horrible look on his face, as if he were four years old and I had killed his puppy in front of him; that was the image that sprung to my mind just thinking about it.  
  
"Lia..." The ache in his voice was awful, and it resonated perfectly with the emptiness in my chest.  
  
"Just get out," I spat out as coldly as I could manage. ~Don't look at him.~ I thought. ~Don't look up. Don't even move.~  
  
I heard him take a shuddering breath. "Fine," he said evenly, barely trying to keep the anger and hurt from his voice. "If that's what you want."  
  
Bill stalked heavily to the door. It banged against the wall as he threw it open. I heard him stop. "Goodbye, Bill."  
  
"It really isn't, Lia," he replied. It sounded like something my student would have said. "It really isn't."  
  
I heard the pop that told me he was gone, and I sat down heavily in one of the chairs. By this time tomorrow I would be in Wales. My apprentice would have to meet me there. Gods, she would be furious.  
  
I didn't think she'd ever forgive me for what I did to Bill. 


	4. Maeve, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny: Diaries...

Hail, all ye Faithful Readers! Sorry about the delay on this puppy. I'd actually been working on a different chapter 3, but this one ended up coming out easier, for some reason. Prolly cause it's a diary entry courtesy of Miss Maeve Flynn. I'd not really intended to have any Maeve action until Hogwarts, but apparently she's a little hungry for the spotlight. I'm not sure how much this furthers things, although you fo get a good bit of an idea of Maeve's...state of mind. Anyway, it then got longer because Schnoogle said it didn't fit their length requirements, so I added some more Maeve and then some letters from Ron and Ginny to Hermione and Hermione's replies. I promise the next bit has big Harry action, well not that big, but there's some plot development for his summer, and after that we'll get the Order of the Pheonix. Haven't decided whether I'll give you Hafiz and Maeve's meeting with Rhonwen. We'll see.  
  
THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH TO MY REVIEWERS!!! BlackDragon skullfarmer, and animalcrazy10102, I'm so glad you guys are reading and enjoying! It warms the cockles of my heart! Hope this will satiate you until I get a little more done on the next Harry part, which is rather amusing thus far...  
  
Disclaimer: I forgot this puppy last time and nothing killed me. There was no big scary corporate dude from Scolastic, no frightening movie god from WB, no angry british publisher, nothing. I'm taking this as a sign that they like this. You should too. The song's by Phil Ochs. He's dead and a communist (well, nearly) so he doesn't care one way or the other. Song last chapter was by Bob Dylan. He's dead and a communist too (nearly on both counts, this time). If you're Bob Dylan and have a problem with me using your song, I hereby apologise. If you're Phil Ochs; Dude, you're dead. Just go home.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~  
  
Here's a song to those who are gone with never a reason why / And a toast of the wine to the end of the line / And a toll of the bell for the next one to die~ Phil Ochs, A Toast to Those Who Are Gone  
  
  
  
Yo Diary,  
  
Amy and I got tattoos today. You remember my friend Jens from the Deutschland exposition who told me that when I decided what I wanted he'd do it for me? He moved to Salem, so Amy and I went over there and got them done. We got roses, a red one for me on the inside of my wrist and a pink one for Amy on her wrist. Then we both got crying J's on our left hips. That stung like a bitch. Jens was laughing at me and I bitched him out and then he laughed harder. Amy literally read a book the whole time. She says she can't feel it if she doesn't see it. The girl is crazy when it comes to needles. I was surprised that she wasn't totally wigged out. Maybe she's used to it by now. She does have some good horror stories. It's like there's a new one every time she goes to the doctor.  
  
Once we were done we went down to the cemetery. It was rainy and wet and there was mud everywhere. It should have been great.  
  
Except for the fact that that stupid bitch killed herself so that I had to spend my perfect rainy day in a goddamn cemetery.  
  
Oh, whoops, sorry.  
  
The really shitty thing is that rainy days are our thing- were our thing. I mean, the three of us would always go out and play like damn fools in the rain, right out in the middle of the street, no matter how cold the rain was or whatever. Amy always prattles on about how books talk about things like "warm spring rain".  
  
There's no such thing as a warm rain. Rain is cold. Cool, but cold.  
  
Yeah, there was no dancing today. Amy and I just kind of stood there a while, staring at the rock they planted above her.  
  
Grave stones are ugly. Note to whoever reads this when I'm dead: burn me and then donate a park bench with a nice nameplate to someplace. I'd rather grow flowers in Tahiti when I'm dead than be a decaying-flesh-worm- farm. Plus, then maybe some homeless guy will fall asleep on the bench that has my name on it and have my name pressed backwards into his face for an entire day. Hehe.  
  
Amy and I brought flowers. Roses, what else? Red ones, for me, yellow and pink roses for Amy, and soft purple roses for her.  
  
I have a bruise on my arm. I got it when I tried to knock over the headstone. We were just standing there, and I got so angry, and then I was flying at that damn thing, trying to break it, and Amy pulled me off and we were on the ground, in the mud and sod and rain and roses. She started screaming at me, asking me what I was doing.  
  
"Killing her again!" I screamed back. I hated her, and I told Amy that. I hated her more than anything. She was a fucking coward. What they hell was her goddamn problem? Why didn't she tell me?  
  
Why didn't I just...I don't know. I knew. I should have done something. I saw it. I saw what was coming, and I did jack shit. It was my fault, that I did nothing...  
  
But Amy was here! Amy was here every goddamn day! Why in God's name didn't she do something? Didn't she see?  
  
I said that to her, I did, and she was furious with me. That and I kinda accused her of being to wrapped up in her own little world to pay attention to her.  
  
I thought she was going to kill me. Course I kinda wanted her to.  
  
She started yelling back at me, saying all this stuff about how she tried to be there for her, but that she wouldn't listen, that she knew she should have done more for her but she just didn't think, that she'd give anything, but that there was nothing...  
  
And we cried. We just sat there in the rain and cried.  
  
I had missed Amy so much. I miss Joy.  
  
Amy said I looked ridiculous with all the holes in my head. I told her that she needed to try to match her clothes. She replied that it must be very easy for me to match my clothes when everything I owned was black. I then told her that she had to stop studying so much. She just smiled, and said that without me and J, what else was she supposed to do?  
  
Amy and J are-were?- a lot alike. Only Amy she's happiness and beauty everywhere, and Joy...couldn't.  
  
I envy Amy. She sees everything with such perfect clarity. She's so smart and inquisitive and everything. And she's such a complete dork but I love her to pieces even if she doesn't know how to act in front of strangers. And she's going to be so gorgeous when she figures out how to buy clothes in her own size and color pallet.  
  
Note to whoever reads this: Cool winters should not, under any circumstances, wear mustard yellow. It's just a bad, bad idea.  
  
Joy knew how to dress. True, she favored turquoise and fuschia vinyl, but she had style. Amy dresses like Kurt Cobain. And I had to explain to her who he was. The girl is clueless. She's great.  
  
We sat there in the mud a while, staring at Joy's stone. "Bitch," I said at last.  
  
"Yeah," Amy agreed. Then she said, "And I hate you too." I looked at her, all surprised. Amy often said things about people like that, but she never carried grudges. She never really hated anyone. There were things she disliked in people, but she would never hate a person. "You're going to leave me too," she said, replying to my look. Maybe she had learned a thing or two about reading people. "You're going to go back out on your grand adventures and save the world, and I'm left here with my books and friendlessness and the ugly clothes and beauty ineptitude and my mom's soft rock and stuff, and you're going to be with people."  
  
I told her that she could make more friends, that she was a great person, but she just shook her head. "I don't make friends, Miv. I just don't. You were always the outgoing one. You and J were always the crazy kids. I just kinda came along for the ride."  
  
"You're going to be great, Am," I told her that. "I mean, you're done. You're taking college classes now. You're going to be rich and successful with all kinds of wonderful things. I'm just following around some jack-off twit for the rest of my life."  
  
Amy smiled sadly but didn't say anything. She really is so lonely. I'd tried to push Michael toward her, and he likes her enough, but she's just so shy. I think she's got a little crush on Mikey too. Hell, he is pretty hot, for a brother. And Am's like me. She goes for the piercings. Mike got both his ears done, and he's got these silver hoops through them, like mine only more masculine and less numerous.  
  
"You could come to England," I said suddenly. I really wanted her to come to, you know? I don't want to let her go. I mean, she's all I've got left, besides the siblings.  
  
"Is that where you're going next?"  
  
"Well, we haven't been told yet."  
  
"But you know."  
  
Amy knows all about the Sisterhood. I told her and J everything. Amy also knows about the visions. She knows they're getting stronger. I told you how I'd seen, just yesterday, that giant ugly bird of Rhonwen's fly through the window and give Fizz our summons. I know we were going to Wales, then Scotland. I'm terrified she'd drop Bill. Fizz is high-strung enough to freak out like that.  
  
Amy said she couldn't come to Hogwarts. Her parents wouldn't know what to do without her, really. Amy's an only child, and her mom's been really sick. Like mine, only not quite as crazy. Well, actually Amy's mom's kind of psychotic, but we both know that my mom's just plain crazy. Amy's mom's naturally like that. Mine...degenerated.  
  
Besides, with Amy's studies, she has to stay. She's got a full ride at Salem Institute's university, and that's the best school in the country. Hell, she'll probably be done before I finish Hogwarts.  
  
If I finish Hogwarts.  
  
I don't care if Hogwarts is in Scotland. I'm going to die.  
  
Amy's going to kill me, if I do that.  
  
"You'll be careful, right Maeve?" She sounded so tiny when she asked me. Amy's such a little kid sometimes, and I mean that in the best way. It's the way she makes you feel helpless against her, like she needs you desperately and you'd do anything to help her. She give you these big googly eyes and you just melt. "Write me always?"  
  
"Always, Amy."  
  
We got up to go, and I heard her say something to J. "See you later, Joyous."  
  
And I couldn't help but think to myself, "See you soon, J-bird."  
  
Michael came running up to us when we reached the gate. Mom had been looking for me. I had told her where I was going to be. Crazy woman can't remember a damn thing. Amy shrank behind me when she saw Mike. She so wants him. Too bad he's coming to Hogwarts too. Dad thinks Mom will get better without all our rabble-rousing.  
  
When he asked us if we were okay, he glanced at Amy a bit. She did look pretty good. She was wearing blue. She looks great in blue. That and she was wet. Doesn't hurt.  
  
Mike is such a guy.  
  
Wonder if there are good guys at Hogwarts. Maybe Hafiz will let me find out.  
  
Mike and I started for home, but Amy pulled me back a moment. I thought she was going to ask me something about Mike, but what she said gave me chills. "Are you going to die, Maeve?"  
  
I tried to tell her no, but she didn't believe me.  
  
"Will you tell me when you know you're going to? I don't want to leave you alone. Not like Joy."  
  
I just nodded. She hugged me tight. "And don't let any dirty British girls with bad teeth at your brother. I want him in one piece for my turn."  
  
"How'd you know-"  
  
"Like you'd spend a year without them of you could, Maeve. For all your bitching about your family, you love them to pieces."  
  
She knows me too well. I'm going to miss her again.  
  
I miss Joy more. She should have gotten a rose tattoo too.  
  
Peace out, diary.  
  
  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I can't believe your parents actually let you go visit that git Krum. I mean, he's four years older than you! Honestly, Hermione, he's just strange. Plus, he's from Durmstrang. You know that they're all just going to sign up with You-Know-Who now that he's back. It's dangerous, Hermione. What if he turns you over to the Death Eaters? Plus, he's too old for you. I mean, he's nineteen now! That's just gross! What does he want with a girl your age? He's just going to turn you into some kind of scarlet woman.  
  
Maybe when you're done entertaining Vicky you can come grace us with your presence at the Burrow. Honestly, nobody's going to try and take advantage of you here. Well, Fred and George might try and feed you some strange things. Some idiot actually gave them money to make more jokes. Can you believe that? Well, they didn't actually say so, but there's no way that they had enough money to make all this stuff themselves. Ginny and I have been turned into parrots, peacocks, and porcupines just in the past week. Percy got turned into a gerbil for an entire day. That was funny.  
  
Mum wants you to come visit too. She's worried about you going to visit Vicky by yourself. She says that there's one thing a guy like that wants from a girl, and it isn't anything good. Plus, Bulgaria isn't safe now. I mean, it isn't THAT far from Albania, and who knows what allies You- Know-Who's got around there.  
  
Bill's moving back home. Well, back to England at least. I heard him telling Mum that he probably wasn't going to live at the Burrow. She was livid, asking him what was wrong with the Burrow and whatnot. He was going on about how it was dangerous to have us all in one place and he was going to be doing some dangerous stuff for Dumbledore, plus his Gringotts work and that he wouldn't be home much anyways, and plus he'd gotten used to his own space. But I heard him telling Charlie he'd met some woman in Egypt who he was going to ask to move up to England with him. Said she was a tutor or something and travelled around the world with her student. Charlie was trying to get details out of Bill, but Bill wasn't telling. He hadn't asked her yet, anyhow.  
  
Ginny and I have actually started our homework. There's really not much else to do. Well, I've been trying to get Ginny to come out and practice Quidditch, but she won't until I've worked on my homework with her for an hour. She's such a brat. I mean, if I'm going to make the house team this year I need to practice! And Ginny's got a good arm on her. I could make Keeper, I think, but I can't practice by myself. I'm a little afraid of asking Fred and George for help. They'd probably pelt me with apples until I fell of my broom.  
  
My broom is awful.  
  
Ginny wrote you a letter too. I've put it in here, and no, I did not read it. She wouldn't let me. Said she wouldn't practice with me all week if I read it.  
  
Anyway, if you really do end up going to Bulgaria, even though you shouldn't, don't get killed. Who'll help me through the O.W.L.'s if you don't? And don't say Harry. Harry in no way motivates me to study.  
  
Right then. Write me back. Write me everyday if you go to Bulgaria. Then I'll know you aren't dead. Or dying. Or captured. Or critically injured. Or being tortured. Or held hostage. Or being- right. Just write me back.  
  
Your friend,  
  
Ron  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
Are you really going to Bulgaria to see Victor? Ron almost had a fit when he heard. Actually he did have a fit. He shouted for a good half hour before Mum finally shut him up, and then he started telling her about Victor, horribly skewed of course, and now she's all worried about you. I managed to tell her that Victor's really very nice and everything, so I don't think she'll send a letter to your parents warning them about Victor. I'm sure you can take care of yourself.  
  
Ron is such a prat. All he talks about is you and going to Bulgaria and how much he hates Victor. It's hysterical. He does talk about Harry sometimes, particularly when he gets a letter. Harry's letter's have been really short, it seems. Of course he isn't writing me, but I've seen the letter's Ron gets from him. Haven't read them, but they look to only be about a paragraph long. Nothing like the novels that Ron writes to you.  
  
Of course, Harry doesn't have a crush on Ron.  
  
Do be careful in Bulgaria, though. I'm sure you'll be safe with Victor and his family, but, well, you know.  
  
Have you heard much from Harry? Is he doing better, do you think? Mum's really worried about him.  
  
Fred and George got a bunch of money from someplace, and now they're wreaking havoc on the whole house. It's awful. Awfully funny. You know, I bet you anything it was Harry who gave them the money. Who else would have money just lying around Hogwarts like that? Do you think he gave them the money from the Tournament? I can't imagine he'd really want to keep it.  
  
Will you come visit later in the summer, after you visit Victor? It would be nice to have some one to talk to other than these stupid brothers of mine.  
  
I have to go play Quidditch with Ron now. I refuse to play with him until he's done an hour of work with me, but we already did that this morning. You should be proud.  
  
Have fun in Bulgaria, and write me to tell me how it goes!  
  
Love,  
  
Ginny  
  
  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
You great prat! Honestly. His name is VICTOR, and he's a perfect gentlemen, and he would never force me to do ANYTHING against my will, unlike SOME people I could mention. And, yes, I AM going to Bulgaria, ALONE, and no, I will not be getting, hurt, killed, maimed, cursed, taken, kidnapped, tortured, drowned, strangled, beaten, hexed, or injured or violated in any other way. And you can tell your mother that Victor's parents will be there the whole time and that they wrote a very nice note inviting me to visit. So I will be FINE!!!! You never had a problem with him before, you know. All last summer it was Krum this and Krum that. You were so excited when he came to Hogwarts. He's a NICE PERSON! You're just a jealous prat.  
  
I'm glad you're getting your school work done. I've already finished everything, but Victor and I are going to be spending a day at the Durmstrang library, so I'm sure that I'll find loads more to add.  
  
The school brooms really aren't that bad, Ron. I'm sure you could make Keeper on one of those. You know more about Quidditch than almost anyone else in our year, so I'm sure you'll make it.  
  
And who in their right mind would give Fred and George money to make more jokes? Poor Percy. I hope he's not too behind on all his work, what with his unscheduled transformation.  
  
I'll only be in Bulgaria for a week. I repeat, I will be FINE!!! Just leave it alone, Ron.  
  
I'm glad that Bill's found a nice girl. Will we get to meet her this summer? What does she teach? How old is her student?  
  
I'll ask my parents if I can visit you toward the end of the summer, but only if it's okay with your mum and ONLY if you leave me alone about Victor.  
  
Love,  
  
Hermione  
  
  
  
Dear Ginny,  
  
God, Ron is so obnoxious. Three-quarters of his letter was telling me that Victor was going to get me killed. I'm glad you set your mum straight.  
  
I didn't really want to go see Victor, really, but both he and his parents wrote mine these lovely invitations asking me to stay, and my parents thought that it would be a nice experience. I like Victor well enough, but not the way he likes me. So I'm only going for a week, and at the end I'll say that I like him, but I'm really too young to have a relationship with him, or something.  
  
Do you think that Ron could make the House Team? He'd love that so much. I'm glad you're pushing him to do work. Seems you've found the perfect way to motivate him!  
  
Harry hasn't said a whole lot to me in his letters, either. I think that his aunt and uncle found out about the Tournament and Cedric and everything, and it sounds like he was grounded in his room for a week, but he's out now. He said the neighbours were asking after him. I guess his summer is better than it could be.  
  
You really should write him yourself, Ginny. I'm sure all his letter from Ron are complaints about me going to Bulgaria and then just pages about Quidditch. I bet he'd love to hear about what Fred and George are up to. I agree, he probably did give Fred and George that money. It does sound like something Harry would do.  
  
Write me back soon!  
  
Love,  
  
Hermione.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Dear, sweet lord, please please please PLEASE review!!! Just tell me if you're reading and whether or not you like it! I know it's slow, it's all development stuff. Just work with me. Please let me know what you think!!! 


	5. The Flower Lady

Hey all! It's finally here! Thanks for all your patience! This chapter was incredibly hard for me to write. All of your kind words and reviews have meant soooo much to me. More thanks than I can possibly express at 2:30 am goes out to my beta, Kalar'i, whose fic is over at Schnoogle.com. It's good! Thanks to everyone! enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: right. Like I own anything. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
She's got a smile that it seems to me  
  
Reminds me of childhood memories  
  
Where everything  
  
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky  
  
Now and then when I see her face  
  
She takes me away to that  
  
special place  
  
And if I stared too long  
  
I'd probably break down and cry  
  
Oh, Sweet child o' mine  
  
Oh, Sweet love of mine  
  
She's got eyes of the bluest skies  
  
As if they thought of rain  
  
I hate to look into those eyes  
  
And see an ounce of pain  
  
Her hair reminds me  
  
of a warm safe place  
  
Where as a child I'd hide  
  
And pray for the thunder  
  
And the rain  
  
To quietly pass me by  
  
Oh, Sweet child o' mine  
  
Oh, Sweet love of mine ~Guns 'n' Roses  
  
You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht Your hat strategically dipped below one eye Your scarf it was apricot You had one eye in the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner They'd be your partner, and.... You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you Don't you? Don't you? ~Carly Simon  
  
You've been so Kind and generous. I don't know how you keep on giving. For your kindness I'm in debt to you. And I never could have come this far without you. For everything you've done, I'm bound... Im bound to thank you for it. ~Natalie Merchant  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Colemans' were rather high on my list of people 'n when got back from their house. They even inspired a new list.  
  
Reasons Why This Stupid Voldemort Thing is Worth Fighting  
  
1. The Colemans are the most wonderful Muggles ever.  
There were a lot more reasons I could think to add, but I really wasn't in the mood. I simply loved the Colemans.  
  
I had gone over to help the Colemans with cleaning out their attic and some yard work. They were getting on in years; all their kids had moved out, and Mr. Coleman was due to retire in the next year or so. Mr. and Mrs. Coleman and I cleaned out the attic, rearranged the furniture in the living room, trimmed the hedges, weeded the garden and flowerbeds, and organised the cellar and garage. Mrs. Coleman made a huge meal for us- lots of cold cuts and a big pudding and this thick bread that she made herself. It was like being at the Weasleys', only with fewer people. Mrs. Coleman kept trying to feed me more food. And when we were cleaning out the attic they gave me a bunch of old clothes that used to belong to their sons. There were a couple pairs of jeans, a pair of chinos in good condition, two dress shirts, and a bunch of t-shirts from the 70's and 80's with bands like The Clash and Def Leppard on them. One of the t-shirts had this pink thing surrounded by big pink bubbles, and it said "Mr. Bubble" on it. Mr. Coleman said his son got it while studying in America.  
  
Mrs. Coleman dug out a pair of gym shorts that she said might fit me. She said that she was afraid I was going to fall and crack my head open every time she saw me running down the block in Dudley's massive hand-me-down clothes. They even tried to pass me this ancient bicycle that no one in their family used anymore. I didn't even know how to ride a bicycle, as the Dursleys' would never let me ride one, and I knew that the Dursleys would certainly never let me have one, so I said that the bicycle was too much, and the Dursleys would probably be afraid I'd get too far on it. I was joking, but Mrs. Coleman frowned. I don't think she likes Aunt Petunia too much.  
  
Did I mention the Colemans have good taste?  
  
And then on top of everything, they PAID me! They paid me! When they first offered, I turned them down flat. I was kind of afraid that Uncle Vernon would just take the money as rent or something, but I didn't tell the Colemans that. I just said that I was happy to help and to have something to do outside of the house. It wasn't until I got back to the Dursleys' and was putting all my new clothes away that I realised Mrs. Coleman had stuffed a twenty pound note into the pocket of one of the pairs of jeans.  
  
I think I loved the Colemans. Scratch that. I know I loved the Colemans.  
  
Which was why the next day had me taking my morning run (Number 1 on the "How to Get Stronger" list) into the centre of Little Whinging. Aunt Petunia was out doing something pseudo-charitable with her Ladies' Social Club, probably gossiping about poor children in Africa, and I'd told her that I was going to work for a friend of the Colemans, repaving their driveway or some nonsense. I'd have been locked in the house or set about with sixty chores otherwise. And there was no way that I was simply going to let the Colemans' generosity slide by. It seemed kind of odd, buying them a gift with money they had given me, but I supposed they had wanted me to spend it on something important to me. The Colemans most definitely fit that bill.  
  
It was a very warm day, and the sweat was just pouring off of me. I liked the running. I liked the feeling of pushing myself until I couldn't go anymore. Books felt useless. All my reading and studying didn't rid me of the feeling that I was simply waiting. But with running, with the exercise I felt like I was doing something. And whether I was closer or further from where I wanted to be it didn't matter.  
  
It was as if there was this giant clock that followed me around, counting down the seconds until Voldemort did something, whether that something was attack me, or attack some Muggles or wizards or anyone it didn't matter. I needed to be ready. And I didn't feel I was. All I could do was go and hope that that clock would slow down a bit, or go away, or that he would finally show up and do something so that I wouldn't have to go anymore.  
  
I ran hard all the way into the village, loving the ache in my muscles, needing that burning feeling in my lungs, and drowning out that tick of the clock with the pounding of my blood. My "Mr. Bubble" shirt was drenched with sweat. And as I ran, I made a new list.  
  
Possible Things to Get the Colemans  
  
1. A very nice note. (What, are you lame, Potter? Sure, write them a note. "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Coleman. Thank you for the lovely clothes and the even lovelier 20 pounds. I'm so glad that you noticed my family hates me and I'm a sad, sad individual. 20 Pounds is more than the Dursleys have ever given me in my entire life. As a token of my gratitude, here's a nice little note written in my poor penmanship and on a piece of paper I stole from my cousin. Sincerely, Harry Potter")  
  
2. Sweets (Ron likes sweets. The Colemans like ham. Get with the program, Harry.)  
  
3. A kitten (Potter, did you smoke that Gillyweed Dobby gave you?)  
  
4. Flowers  
The voice in my head started saying "Flowers!? What the hell-" but it stopped short when I realised that flowers actually were a good idea. Certainly better than a kitten. Kittens. Honestly. With my luck the cat would have turned into Crookshanks Junior.  
  
I slowed to a walk when I reached the village square in an attempt to get the better part of the sweat on my shirt to evaporate. The day was warm, all right, but there was a nice breeze that helped keep the weather from crossing the line between "hot" and "unbearable". There was a little flower shop on the main road in town and I really did not want to go in there looking like a big, dirty, sweaty prat. The flower shop had this big green sign with the name "Fauna's Flora" scrawled across it in fancy white script. In my opinion, whoever Fauna was should have been shot for naming her shop that. Or rather, whoever named Fauna should be shot.  
  
List of Strange Things that People Name Their Children  
  
1. Fauna (It reminds me of Bambi. I don't know why.)  
  
2. Sirius (Imagine the flack he got in school. Heck, my name's fairly normal and they all called me "Hairy Pooper". That's all right. Dudley's disgustingly obese and I can run three miles into town! HAH!)  
  
3. Remus (Yeah, the jokes for that are worse.)  
  
4. Severus (See "Reasons Why I'm Glad I'm Not Related to Snape" list)  
  
5. Gilderoy (poof)  
  
6. Hermione (There must be a story behind that. I should ask her.)  
  
7. Draco (His dad's a poof. Speaking of which...)  
  
8. Lucius (triple poof. My reasoning? He wears hair ribbons. HAIR RIBBONS! And that cane has got to be an overcompensation for something...)  
  
9. Dudley (At least that one's accurate. Okay, so Sirius, Remus, and Severus are fitting as well, but Draco? He's definitely a ferret on the inside. It's the one good thing that bastard Crouch Junior ever did.)  
Vernon and Petunia were stupid names too, but not so strange like those other ones. I resolved that my children would have nice, ordinary names like Richard and Jane. James and Lily were all right too.  
  
My shirt was mostly dry by the time I had reached the flower shop, and the little bell on the door tinkled as I pushed it open. I was nearly bowled over by the colours and smells of the place. Hundreds of bright petals jumped out at me from every corner. It was like being at the greenhouses at school, only much less dangerous, much less organised, and much better smelling. An older woman in the back with frizzy, wild grey hair turned to look at me, then turned back to the arrangement she was working on without a change in her dour expression. "Grace!" she shouted. "Customer!"  
  
"Just a moment!" a bright, younger voice called. The musical sound was in sharp contrast to the older woman's grating bark. "I'm getting attacked by a cactus!"  
  
I tensed involuntarily before I remembered that Muggle plants don't bite. I slapped myself mentally. As if you were really going to save the woman from a mauling cactus, Potter. Really, this hero complex has gotten to your head.  
  
I didn't have a whole lot of time for self-abuse, though, as a moment later a girl about my age came walking out of the back. My stomach turned over. She was, in a word, gorgeous. She was perhaps the prettiest girl I'd ever seen, and certainly of the prettiest, but I didn't want to think about other pretty girls; it usually led to thoughts of the Third Task. There was a streak of dirt on her blue jeans and another on her dark green apron, and a few particularly aggressive cactus spines clung to her long sleeved black t-shirt, but she had this rolling, smooth gait that struck me as completely otherworldly. It was like one of those tacky moments you see in films, where the girl that the boy never gets walks by in slow motion with bright lights and cheesy music.  
  
Vaguely I wondered if the flower shop was hiring.  
  
"Good morning!" said Grace, or rather "Graislaine" as her name badge read. Graislaine. That made number 10 on the Strange Names list. I liked it though. It ranked up there with Hermione. Maybe even with Jane. "Can I help you find anything today?"  
  
"Erm, yeah. I'm looking for a gift for a neighbour of mine." I glanced about evasively, wildly hoping something would jump out at me so I wouldn't look like a complete idiot in front of this girl before I managed to escape. "Actually two neighbours, really. A married couple."  
  
"All right. Did you have anything mind, like a live plant as opposed to cut flowers?" My own voice sounded crackly and rough against her smooth lilt.  
  
"Um, I dunno. Something live would be nice, I think." Smooth, Potter, real smooth. You really can't think without Hermione around to fill you in, can you?  
  
"Is it for a special occasion?" Another question, and I felt as if I were having a surprise test at school, only it was the kindest, most thoughtful test I'd ever experienced. Her brilliant eyes gazed searchingly into mine. I felt like I had eyes as large as Hedwig as I stared stupidly back at her.  
  
"Um, it's a thank you gift." Her already well-arched eyebrows lifted further in surprise, though not a bad surprise. She must have been thinking it was a housewarming or new baby gift or something.  
  
"Oh, live plants really are the nicest kind, then." Her smile rolled out over her face. Hermione's parents would have been enamoured of this girl's teeth. They were that straight and white. There was something very relaxing about that smile. I felt like I had just been told I'd gotten perfect marks on that test. "Do you have a price range that you were looking for?"  
  
I squirmed a bit and tried not to wince. I had a terrible feeling that I was going to fail this question. She was going to end up showing me some ugly container of moss and some pebbles she'd lifted off the street. "Erm, well, I've got about twenty pounds."  
  
But that brilliant smile flashed again and I relaxed. Apparently there were no wrong answers on this test, or I was a genius at flower shopping. One of the two. "I know just the thing." She glided across the room, and I followed her like a puppy. As she spoke in that smooth, oozing voice, she moved her hands back and forth with a kind of liquidity of motion in her wrists. Grace, I supposed, was accurate. "These here are called camellias. They are fairly tropical plants. Camellias prefer warmer climes, though the do need a wintering period of several weeks below 10 degrees Celsius. They originated in China and Japan. They're beautiful plants that come in a large variety of colours. The reason I suggest camellias is this: there is a language assigned to plants."  
  
"Is he getting the message lecture, Grais?" the old lady called from the back.  
  
"Everyone gets the message lecture, Flossie. I don't discriminate," Graislaine called back jokingly. Catching my quizzical look, she said, "I always end up giving our customers a talk about the language of plants. You see, there are different messages and meanings attached to different kinds of flowers. You've probably heard some of it, like red roses are for passion, that sort of thing."  
  
"Oh, yes." Vaguely, somewhere.  
  
"Well, there's more to the whole thing. It was developed out of the powers attributed to different plants by herbalists and nature-worshippers over the past thousand or so years. The messages and romantic meanings were then set in stone during the Victorian period, when apparently everything had to be overwrought and romantic." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she said that. I smiled back at her sarcastic humour, intellectual though it was. "The whole thing became rather popular, so now most everyone knows that red roses are for passion, white ones for innocence and purity-"  
  
"Is that what white roses are for, Graislaine?" Flossie called out. There was a smile in her voice. I supposed that she was just making fun of Graislaine's lecture.  
  
"Yes, Flossie. They also mean Secrecy and Silence, I'm Worthy of You, and You're Heavenly. The last one is the most accurate."  
  
"HA!" Flossie cackled. I was convinced that this woman was the kind that village kids thought of when they thought of witches; crazy hair, with a barking and somewhat unpleasant laugh, and rather nasty in nature.  
  
Catching my confused look, Graislaine rolled her eyes and explained, "It's my last name. Whiterose."  
  
"Oh." Yup. The last one was the most accurate.  
  
"Flossie's in a right state today," Graislaine whispered, conspiratorially arch. "One of the weddings that she's working on is a regular hassle. The wedding's in two weeks and the woman has changed her mind twelve times. Weddings get Flossie's knickers all knotted up." I snorted.  
  
"What's that, Miss Heavenly?"  
  
"Nothing, Flossie dear!" Graislaine called innocently, not turning around. I suspected she didn't want Flossie to see the smirk on her face. Graislaine looked back at me with a smile. "Anyway, the flowers, camellias, their meaning. Right." She shook her head, and that intense look was back in her eyes. "Camellias, in general, mean gratitude. The white, blue, and pink varieties mean other things, but a nice red or variegated variety might be nice." She paused to let it all soak in. I had never really thought about it, but the whole thing sounded so un-Muggle. Powers attributed to plants? I had no idea that Muggles thought like that. "There's also-"  
  
"I like the camellias," I said suddenly. And I did. There were different. I'd never really seen anything like them. Of course, I was most familiar with bubotubers and mandrakes, but these were different from any Muggle plant I'd seen. The petals were like a curly, but they opened up like a fully bloomed rose, and the stems were like a bush with thick, shiny leaves like on a fake plastic plant. Plus, I liked how they meant what I was trying to say. Somehow it made everything easier. The Colemans probably wouldn't know the meaning behind them, but I would, and I liked it. I picked up a small plant whose buds had not yet opened.  
  
"That will be a lovely plant when she blooms. The flower is almost star shaped when it opens, with smooth, uncurled petals in that rich crimson colour," Graislaine said. Her eyes were glowing as she looked at the plant. Her enthusiasm was catching, I found. It was like there was this quiet, loving pride directed toward the plant. I checked the price sticker. Ten pounds forty, including the terracotta jar.  
  
"I'll take this one, then," I said, and there was a nice feeling of relief that settled over me. It was a good gift, and it was just the message I was after.  
  
Graislaine's smile glowed out again. I found myself attaching to that smile, the way it seemed to just shine out from deep inside. "She is a pretty plant, she is," she agreed warmly, and she took the plant from me and carried it up to the counter.  
  
"I've never really thought about the meanings attached to plants," I said, by way of conversation. I wanted to hear her voice again, to feel that smile. Something about the way she looked at me, I felt completely accepted, once I'd gotten over my "test anxiety".  
  
"Most don't," Flossie said from the back. "Even I don't know most of them, and I've worked with flowers my whole life. Graislaine knows all the stories behind the flowers. The brides love her for it." Flossie didn't appear to be pleased by the thought.  
  
"Or hate me," Graislaine laughed as she punched numbers on the register. "Especially if they've got their hearts set on something. Usually I can keep my mouth shut around those kind."  
  
"Graislaine does trees too. Remember that Pierce girl, Grais, whose mother wanted her married under that tree in her back yard until you told her that yew trees were the tree of death." Flossie's barking laugh filled the tiny shop.  
  
Graislaine laughed too, but much more quietly. "Yes, well, Jenny appreciated it. Remember, that was how she got her way about getting married in that orchard, which was good, apples and all." Graislaine glanced up at me. "Apples symbolise fertility and happiness," she explained.  
  
"Where did you learn all this?" I asked. The whole thing was so wizard- esque to me. I'd never heard Muggles say anything like this. Even wizards didn't have things as complex as this, as far as I knew, which, granted, wasn't very far.  
  
Graislaine smiled almost regretfully. "I'm from down by Glastonbury. My whole family is a bunch of hippie-New-Age-types. We're fairly normal, so far as some of those people around there go. We blend in nicely. By my family is...rather faithful, to the old ways."  
  
"Watch out, boy," Flossie cackled. "She'll hex you!" I seriously doubted that. I was more afraid of what Flossie might do to me than I was of what Graislaine might.  
  
"Oh, honestly, Flossie, they don't do that sort of thing," Graislaine frowned, clearly exasperated. I got the feeling that this conversation had played itself out numerous times with many different people. "That sort of thing isn't taken lightly." Graislaine then smiled, a wicked gleam coming into her eyes. "More than likely, anyone who messed with me would be used by my brothers for target practice." She handed me my change, adding under her breath with a conspiratorial smile, "Once I'm done with them." I laughed quietly, but I had a feeling that it probably wasn't an idle threat. Graislaine wasn't much taller than me, if at all, and she was rather slender, but I could see the muscles in her forearms where her sleeves were pushed back.  
  
"Hippies with guns," Flossie mused disapprovingly. "Now there's a scary thought."  
  
"Oh, we don't have guns, Flossie. We practice archery and knife throwing. It's more painful."  
  
"Depends on where you get hit," I said.  
  
"True," Graislaine agreed seriously. "Plus the arrows and knives used for that sort of thing usually are designed to tear the flesh as they're taken out."  
  
I shuddered. "Remind me not to mess with your family." No reason to invite more pain.  
  
Graislaine smiled. Her eyes reminded me of Dumbledore: sky blue with a lively twinkle. "I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about. We're pretty easy people to get along with." I didn't doubt it.  
  
"The marijuana makes them mellow," Flossie added from the backroom. I struggled not to burst out laughing as Graislaine wheeled around, indignantly shouting, "FLOSSIE!"  
  
"Oh, come on, Graisie, it's just a joke."  
  
"Everyone assumes that just because my family is a bit outlandish that they are automatically a bunch of pot-smoking whackos. I'll have you know that I never met anyone who used marijuana until I came to Little Whinging."  
  
"Graislaine, when you tell people that your family is a bunch of New-Age, hippy types, people automatically throw in marijuana and witchcraft," Flossie said distastefully. I nodded in reluctant agreement when Graislaine looked to me for confirmation of this, though I completely disagreed with the witchcraft bit. Granted, I had a different take on that sort of thing.  
  
"What does marijuana have to do with witchcraft?" Graislaine demanded as she began to wrap my plant in paper.  
  
"Oh, please, Graislaine," Flossie sighed as she stepped out of that back. "I know you're naive, but those New Age people are just plain odd. I can't believe you've never picked up on this. All those hippie lowlifes running around today are up to all kinds of dodgy and illegal shenanigans. Imagine them, working their little Satanic rituals outside naked, casting God-knows what atrocities and corrupting all kinds of good folks. Now I know your family's not like that, Graislaine." Flossie didn't sound as if she really believed that. "But there's a lot of strange people about nowadays. I'm amazed your people have done so well keeping you away from those nut cases that run around those parts, searching for Arthur and rambling about fairies and energies and whatnot. I'm all for that naturalist stuff that you rattle off like it was common knowledge, but that witchcraft mumbo jumbo that those young people have got into, it just isn't right. Poor souls have lost their way," Flossie finished with a sigh and ambled back to her worktable.  
  
Reasons I Don't Like Flossie (Even if I'll Never See Her Again)  
  
1. The Dursleys would approve of her outlook. (Nazi)  
  
2. She is insulting and mean, and she enjoys it. (Maybe she is a friend of Aunt Petunia's)  
  
3. She looks like a crazy lady who owned too many cats (No, not like Mrs Figg. Mrs Figg is far more respectable looking than this kook.)  
  
4. She's narrow minded and evil to Graislaine. (Yeah, Graislaine is clearly a damsel in distress, Potter. Chill out with the hero crap)  
  
5. Flossie wouldn't know a real witch or wizard if she got hit with an Unforgivable Curse.  
  
6. Flossie is a stupid name. Not strange, just stupid. (Now THERE'S a reason to dislike someone, Potter.)  
Graislaine glowered at her a moment, then returned to her wrapping. It was a stare that could have cowed Snape, in my opinion. She must have been taking lessons from Dumbledore. Muggle, Potter. Muggle. "I was home- schooled my whole life. I never really met any of those people," she told Flossie, but she was still frowning.  
  
"Why'd you move to Little Whinging, then?" I asked, eager to change the topic.  
  
"Oh, well, I'm going to be attending a regular school come September, and my mother and I agreed that it would probably be a good idea to get some knowledge and practice outside of our little family enclave beforehand, so I came up here to live with my aunt for the past term at Stonewall Comprehensive. You don't go to Stonewall, do you?"  
  
"Um, no. I go to my parent's old school in Scotland."  
  
"Really?" She cut a length of ribbon, a green one with plaid stripes, off of one of the rolls behind the counter. I noticed a roll of blue ribbon near it that matched both Graislaine's eyes and the ribbon that held back Graislaine's long dark curls. "What school? Mine's in Scotland as well." .  
  
"Erm." This. Was. Not. Good. "It's called St Brutus's." There we go. Not a bad lie. It at least worked with Uncle Vernon's.  
  
"Oh." She looked disappointed! "Mine's St Cebhfhionn's."  
  
"Never heard of it." It sounded like a sneeze. And it made number eleven on the Strange Names list.  
  
She smiled again, and said teasingly, "Well, I've never heard of yours either, but I don't get out much." She looked back down, focusing on the elaborate bow she was tying out of a green plaid ribbon. "My Da went there. I guess it's rather small, so I'm told."  
  
"I didn't even know there was a St Cebhfhionn."  
  
"Neither did I. Of course," she leaned in, whispering with that mischievous gleam back in her eye. "I know nothing about saints. After all, I am a lost little hippy low-life." I choked back a laugh. I started to reply, but the door swung open again with a tinkle of the bell, and in walked a woman who was a little younger than Flossie. She was tall and thin, about Aunt Petunia's age, but whereas Aunt Petunia looked like she had been picked, this woman had very smooth skin and short, well-styled light brown hair. She had a rather long face, like a horse or a deer.  
  
"Fauna!" Graislaine cried happily. So this was the unfortunately named Fauna. "You're in already?"  
  
"It's past one already, Graislaine. I'm late really. Joe was bugging me about his begonias."  
  
"Is that scoundrel causing trouble again?" Flossie asked snidely from the back.  
  
"Ah, he's just bothering me because he can't find someone else to push around. You know Joe. He isn't happy unless he can complain," Fauna smiled benignly, but she shot a look at Flossie's back.  
  
People Who Are Only Happy When They Have Something to Complain About  
  
1. Aunt Petunia  
  
2. Flossie  
  
3. This Joe Fellow  
  
4. Draco Malfoy  
  
5. Uncle Vernon  
  
6. Aunt Marge  
  
It was one of my lamer lists. I had thought that it would be more interesting than it turned out, but it did leave me wondering if Draco was related to the Dursleys. More likely that Flossie was a distant relation. There was a certain thickness about her neck that was vaguely reminiscent of my turtle-y uncle.  
  
Fauna looked down her nose at me, then raised an eyebrow at Graislaine. I had a feeling I wouldn't like her either. "Another of your schoolmates, Graislaine?"  
  
"Oh, no," I said quickly. "I don't go to Stonewall. I just live here in the summers."  
  
"Oh," Fauna said. She relaxed and smiled at me. She glanced at my plant. "Oh, the camellias! That's a lovely plant. What are they for, Graislaine?"  
  
"Gratitude," she smiled as she finished knotting the bow.  
  
"They're a thank-you gift for a neighbour," I explained to Fauna.  
  
"You did get the lecture then." She smiled approvingly at Graislaine. Fauna reminded me a bit of a younger McGonagall. "Are you sure that you want to go to that school, Grais? I'd much rather have you here."  
  
Graislaine laughed. "After all the time I've spent convincing my family to let me go away, I think I'll take my chance while I've got it, thanks."  
  
She picked up the plant and I reached out to take it from her, but I nearly dropped it right away as Fauna clamped her hand like a vice around my wrist. I looked up at her, startled, but she was studying my hands. I followed her eyes to my rather dirty fingers. I hadn't cleaned them very well after I had finished weeding and mulching the flowerbeds that morning.  
  
"Do you garden much?" Fauna asked, considering my hands very closely.  
  
"Almost every day," I admitted.  
  
"Just weeding?"  
  
"That, and mulching, pruning the hedges and rose bushes, fertilising. Keeping up the garden is pretty much my chore." Along with the rest of the house, I added silently. "I do a bit at the neighbours too, when they ask."  
  
"They pay you well for it?"  
  
"Pay me? No, I don't get paid." Fauna was making me nervous. Her calculating stare was rather off-putting.  
  
Fauna raised that eyebrow again. "You work at your neighbours' houses voluntarily?"  
  
"Well, they feed me. I got some nice hand-me-downs, and Mrs Coleman paid me, but I told her not to, so that's why I got her the plant." I was babbling, I knew, but I couldn't help it. I tried very hard not to look at Graislaine. I could see her surprised look out of the corner of my eye.  
  
"Do you want a job?"  
  
"A job?" I repeated stupidly. No, Potter, an elephant.  
  
"Yes, boy, a job. My brother Joe, he runs the nursery over on Woodbine Lane. Evans' Farm, it's called. He's been looking for someone to work mornings while his crew is out landscaping. You'd been watering mostly, making sure all the plants are healthy, doing a little on the register, pointing customers in the right direction. It'd be off-book and early, seven to noon Monday to Friday, maybe weekends to when someone gets sick."  
  
"I'll do it." I said, not even thinking about it. Out of the house for five hours a day? There was no question in my mind.  
  
Fauna raised her eyebrow again. "Don't you want to know what it'd pay?"  
  
"It can't be less than I'm making now," I shrugged. "And it can't be more work than I do at the house."  
  
Fauna smirked. "You'd be surprised."  
  
I smirked right back. A much younger McGonagol with a sense of humour, that was Fauna. "So would you."  
  
Fauna's grin spread. "I think you and Joe will get on fine."  
  
I looked over her shoulder and saw Flossie had gone into the back, out of earshot. I leaned in, and said quietly, "If that Flossie doesn't like him, I'm sure I will."  
  
Graislaine's laughter pealed out like bells, while Fauna let a hoot. "Yes, you and Joe will get on nicely." Fauna walked around to the other side of the counter and picked up a little pad of sticky notes and a pen. "What's your name, boy?"  
  
"Harry. Harry Potter."  
  
"Harry Potter," she repeated, scribbling my name on the paper. "All right then. I'll give Joe a call and tell him you'll come by. Can you be there tomorrow?"  
  
"Certainly," I said. "Seven a.m.?"  
  
"Exactly. You know where it is?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. I've driven by it." Aunt Petunia didn't buy her flowers at Evans'. She drove further out to the other side of Greater Whinging to get them, but I'd been past Evans' before. It was about a mile from the Dursleys', out toward the country.  
  
"Good. The pay will be about a hundred twenty a week, assuming you show up every day."  
  
"I will."  
  
"Good." Fauna turned and looked at Graislaine. "You're done," she smiled. "Go home."  
  
"Thanks, Fauna." Graislaine smiled and untied her apron.  
  
"Thank you, Grais. Harry, where do you live?"  
  
"On Privet Drive."  
  
"Oh, Graislaine is over on Magnolia Crescent. Would you mind walking her?"  
  
Graislaine rolled her eyes behind Fauna's back and flashed me a lopsided grin. "Sure." I tucked my plant under my arm. "Are you ready?"  
  
"One moment. Let me just grab my bag." Graislaine ducked into the back. I heard her talking to Flossie. The older woman sounded rather upset about something, while Graislaine sounded as if she was trying to soothe the woman. At last, Graislaine said loudly, "Look, Floss, I'll finish it tomorrow. It won't take long. Honestly. You could finish it in five minutes yourself." Graislaine walked quickly out of the back, frowning. She looked up at Fauna. "Have fun, Faun."  
  
FAWN! That was why the name reminded me of Bambi. A fawn was a baby deer! I was rather proud of myself, though I did give a quiet mental kick, thinking that Hermione would have had that done in under three seconds, while it took me an hour.  
  
"Don't worry, Graislaine, I'll whip it into shape." Fauna winked, and something about the way she stressed the word "it" made me very glad I was not Flossie.  
  
Graislaine grinned mischievously and pulled her bag over her shoulder. I wondered why she needed to carry around such a large case. It was much like the bag I used for my books at school, but school was out for the holidays. I decided that it must be a girl thing. Heaven only knew what all they needed to carry around.  
  
"Have a good afternoon, you two!" Fauna called after us as we walked out the door. "Nice meeting you, Harry!"  
  
"You as well!" I called back. The day had gotten even warmer while I was inside Fauna's, or maybe the refrigeration inside the flower shop made the air feel warmer. I glanced at Graislaine, who smiled shyly back, and we began to walk. The silence was very awkward, and I was having a bit of trouble understanding it. Graislaine had been so forward and friendly while inside the store, and now it was...different. Everything about her inside the store was so polished and perfect, from her angelic looks to her quick- witted intelligence to her caramel-y, even voice. She had seemed very old and somewhat distant at first, but at the same time she had been so inviting and warm that I felt completely at ease. Now she seemed as nervous and self-conscious as I did. I glanced at Graislaine again. She smiled, and it looked as if she was laughing to herself.  
  
"What is it?" I asked.  
  
"Oh, Fauna," she said. "And Flossie. They amuse me."  
  
"Fauna doesn't like Flossie?"  
  
"No one really likes Flossie. Flossie doesn't really go out of her way to be liked, of course, but still." Graislaine seemed a little embarrassed to admit that she didn't like Flossie either.  
  
"Why does Fauna keep Flossie on then?"  
  
"Flossie's worked at the shop forever, since before Fauna bought it and changed the name," Graislaine explained. "And Flossie is very good at what she does. She knows flowers, she's fabulous with arrangements, and she ties bows well." I snorted with laughter before I could stop myself. Graislaine smiled too. "Well, it is a job skill in the floral industry."  
  
"You tied this one," I said, holding up the impeccably wrapped camellias. The bow was rather elaborate, and I knew that I had a better chance of seeing Voldemort's obituary in the paper the next day than ever being able to tie a thing like that. I could barely tie my shoes. I still used the "rabbit ear" method my primary school teacher had taught me when I was seven. "It's very good."  
  
"How do you think I got this job?" Graislaine laughed smoothly. In the bright sunlight her skin looked almost unnaturally pale, only a bit healthier than my own cupboard induced pallor.  
  
"Well, I honestly thought that you just walked in one day and started lecturing Flossie on flowers."  
  
"Well, I may have done that too." I would have never thought that Graislaine would blush, but she did, in a very demure, classy fashion, with a duck of her head and a deepening of colour only in her already pink cheeks.  
  
I nearly dropped my plant. "You didn't!"  
  
"Well, I did apply first," she said a bit defensively. "And as I was turning in the application, I overheard Flossie helping in a customer in a rather disheartening fashion." I choked, imagining what Flossie's customer service skill might be. "So I jumped in and explained one or two things, and Fauna happened to overhear, and I got hired."  
  
"I'm surprised Flossie isn't nastier towards you."  
  
"Oh, she is." Her voice made the closest thing to a chirp that Graislaine was probably capable of. "Flossie was in a good mood today."  
  
I shook my head. "I thought you said that weddings make her testy."  
  
"They do," Graislaine nodded in confirmation. "She's happiest when she feels mistreated. And weddings make her feel overworked and under appreciated."  
  
"That's really weird."  
  
"It makes sense in a very strange fashion, but it is quite odd," Graislaine agreed.  
  
"Grais! Graislaine!" Someone was shouting at us from across the street. Graislaine looked up, then slumped a bit. A tall blond boy, about our age with a deep golden tan, was jogging across the street toward us. He wore a bright, flashy smile that reminded me a bit of Gilderoy Lockhart's. He looked a bit familiar to me.  
  
"Will! Hi!" Graislaine sighed. Sighed? Suddenly her posture was very different. She was slouching, as if she was suddenly very tired. Her tone was forcibly pleasant, and not a bit like the mellow liquid sound that I had grown so fond of so quickly. The boy- I thought I'd gone to primary school with him, perhaps- jumped up on the kerb and pulled Graislaine to him by the hand, pressing his mouth to her cheek only because Graislaine had turned her head to deflect the kiss. Graislaine had stiffened as he drew her to him, but she appeared to like him well enough. She was smiling still, but not the easy smile I'd seen in Fauna's shop. It was like a smile I'd seen Mr. Weasley give Mrs. Weasley when he was trying to smooth things, like when the twins gave Dudley a Ton-Tongue Toffee.  
  
"Where've you been? You didn't come to Zara's last night."  
  
"Well, I wanted to, but I had to work this morning." She brushed him aside with a rather awkward flip of her wrist. It was an unnatural movement out of her. The slouch that she affected was terrible.  
  
"And the game yesterday?" Will pressed on. I wondered if he really thought that she had nothing better to do than hang around him. Although I supposed I didn't know if she really didn't. He struck me as the kind of guy who would be the centre of attention because he demanded it. A ladies' man, the star athlete. He did look like he worked out quite a bit. I felt woefully stupid looking next to him.  
  
"I had to help my aunt in her garden."  
  
"So are you coming to Jack's this Saturday?"  
  
"I didn't know Jack was having a party this Saturday."  
  
"His parents are having their anniversary, and they're going to some place in Cornwall for the weekend. So, yes, there's a party at Jack's this weekend. You're coming, right?"  
  
"Sure, I suppose. It depends."  
  
"I can make it worth your while," Will said, rather suggestively. I couldn't turn my laugh into a hacking cough fast enough. The tall blond looked sharply at me. "And who are you?" he demanded.  
  
"Oh, Will, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Will Taylor," Graislaine introduced us, and I shifted the plant to my other arm so that I could shake Will's hand. Will was still glaring suspiciously at me.  
  
"You look familiar," he said.  
  
"I went to primary here," I said.  
  
Will looked at me closely. "Aren't you that kid that Dudley Dursley used to beat up?"  
  
I nodded. "Nice to be remembered."  
  
"Where'd you move to?"  
  
"Didn't move. I go to boarding school in Scotland. I just come back to the Dursleys' for the summers."  
  
"Why? Where're your parents?"  
  
I gritted my teeth. "They died." You bloody arse, I added silently. "That's why I live with the Dursleys'."  
  
"Oh yeah, Dudley's your cousin, right?"  
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
Will smirked. "You don't like him either, huh?"  
  
I shot Will a withered look that could only be interpreted as "You're stupid."  
  
"The only people who like Dudley are his parents and his Aunt Marge."  
  
"The Dursleys'? Is Petunia Dursley your aunt?" Graislaine asked.  
  
"Again, unfortunately."  
  
"I believe I've met her," Graislaine said, and then continued a bit hesitantly, apparently not wanting to impugn anyone, "She did seem a bit...proud. My aunt just joined the Ladies' Club your aunt belongs to. Several of them were over just the other day, and your aunt kept going on about her 'darling son' and how he would love to meet me."  
  
"She limited herself to 'darling'? That's impressive," I said, and I was only mostly serious.  
  
"Well, she may have said something about 'handsome' and 'bright' and a 'perfect gentleman', but darling was heavily emphasised, yes." Graislaine didn't seem to realise how incredibly funny this was. Her friend Will clearly did, though.  
  
"Just how fat is old Dudders, Potter?" Will asked with a laugh.  
  
"Well, they put him on a diet last year, but it only stalled things, so right now, I'd say baby elephant. Maybe two baby elephants. He's rapidly approaching 'It's moving toward us! Run for your lives!'" I laughed back. Will just laughed harder.  
  
Graislaine frowned. "Well, it isn't as if-"  
  
"No, Grais, you don't understand," Will cut her of, still laughing. "Dursley is the meanest, fattest, most disgusting kid you'll ever meet. He'll probably drool all over you."  
  
"He's kind of a cross between a Neanderthal and a baby pig," I added. The vision of that curly pigtail that Hagrid had giving Dudley on my eleventh birthday was warm in my mind.  
  
"And you're being set up with him!" Will hooted. "God, this is going to be priceless. Potter, you've got to come to Jack's on Saturday and tell me all about it. Grais here will just sugar-coat everything."  
  
"I would not-" Grais started indignantly, and I saw a touch of the lively Graislaine I'd first met.  
  
"Oh, come on, Gracie," Will said, waving off her protests. "You're too nice. You never say anything bad about anyone. Hell, you probably wouldn't even tell us what went down out of fear of embarrassing poor, sweet, innocent Dudley."  
  
"Innocent my arse," I said. "Do you know how much trouble he got me in? Gets me in? And usually I haven't done anything!"  
  
"He's slimy, Grais," Will agreed. I was somewhat surprised that we could agree on anything. "I can't wait to hear about how he made an idiot out of himself. Harry, you've got to give me details. You'll come Saturday, right? Grais can give you the address."  
  
"It depends on whether or not I can sneak out," I replied. "The Dursleys don't let me out of the house unless I'm helping the neighbours with their yard work. Aunt Petunia thinks I'm down the block right now."  
  
"How are you going to get to the nursery tomorrow, then?" Graislaine asked.  
  
"Oh, that's easy. I'll tell them I've got a job that will give me forty pounds a week."  
  
"But you'll make thrice that with Joe."  
  
"I know," I said, nodding. "That's eighty pounds a week that the Dursleys' don't know I've got. They'll make me hand over forty every week, for rent or food or some nonsense, not thinking that I'm making more than that. Then I'll have money to spend on things that the Dursleys' would never get me."  
  
"Like clothes that fit?" Will asked, the taunting smirk back on his face.  
  
"His clothes fit!" Graislaine leapt to my defence. I tried not to smile as Will started looking affronted at Grais's concern for me.  
  
"Yes, but the Dursleys' didn't give me these," I explained. "They're hand- me-downs from my next-door neighbours'. The one's I'm giving the camellias to. Usually I get Dudley's old clothes, which are huge on me."  
  
"You've always been a toothpick, Potter," Will said, and the note of amusement in his voice was definitely not a pleasure that he intended to share with me. There was something about him that was as obnoxious as Malfoy. I supposed it was the way he enjoyed taking others down, and I certainly didn't like how he seemed to think Graislaine appreciated it. I hoped she didn't.  
  
"You've been checking me out, Taylor?" I shot back, trying to keep my rising temper down. Will flushed angrily, and he took a menacing step at me. Apparently he didn't enjoy jokes about his sexuality. Who knew? Graislaine stepped between us, her hand on Will's chest to stop him. Even knowing that she could probably kill both of us with sharp objects, I didn't really think that she could protect either of us at close quarters.  
  
"Graislaine! There you are!" A beat up red car pulled up beside us, and I was grateful for the interruption. A blond woman who looked to be several years younger and much less pickled than Aunt Petunia leaned across the car to look out the window at us, sending chains of beads that hung from the rear view mirror swaying. She smiled brightly, but then frowned a bit, looking at Will. "Hullo, Walt, is it?"  
  
"It's Will," he replied tightly. His fists were clenched.  
  
The woman looked back at Graislaine. "Mum wants us home. We've been invited to tea at the neighbours at three."  
  
"Which neighbours?" Graislaine asked. Beside her, Will was doing a terrible job at hiding a scowl.  
  
"The Dursleys," the woman answered.  
  
"The Dursleys!" I yelped before I could stop myself, and Will shouted it along with me. The woman looked back and forth between us.  
  
"Who are you?" she finally asked me.  
  
"Harry. I'm Petunia Dursley's nephew." The woman looked me up and down, then smiled.  
  
"I'm Lucy Figg."  
  
"Mrs. Figg's daughter?" I asked. She nodded. "I didn't know Mrs. Figg had a daughter."  
  
"Well, I'm kind of a black sheep in her eyes," Lucy said with a wicked grin. She paused. "I like dogs."  
  
Graislaine and I laughed. "It's true," Graislaine said. "Just the other day, Lucy had a great black one over, a huge, beautiful thing, and Aunt 'Cilla was so mad because it frightened all those cats away."  
  
"Those cats are a menace," Will grumbled.  
  
"Oh, Will," Graislaine said indulgently, and she touched his arm consoling manner, which did nothing to improve Will's mood. Apparently he didn't enjoy being treated according to his emotional age- five. "They're not so bad. You're just upset because they didn't take a shine to you like every other female you've met." Will grumbled a bit, but he straightened a bit and looked much appeased. He reminded me of the way Dudley used to fake-cry to get attention. Will wanted Graislaine to make him feel better.  
  
"Come on, Graislaine," Lucy urged. "Harry, would you like a ride home?"  
  
"Um, just to the end of the street. I told Aunt Petunia that I was helping out a neighbour, and it would be a little suspicious if you dropped me off."  
  
Lucy raised her eyebrows. "Aren't you allowed in town by yourself?"  
  
"Well, not really," I admitted reluctantly and Will barely stifled a snigger. "If I'm not working on the house or at a neighbour's, I'm in my room." Making no noise and pretending I don't exist, I thought silently, just the way the Dursleys liked me.  
  
"No wonder you have no friends, Potter," Will said snidely. Graislaine and Lucy were both looking at Will with faces that resembled how the Dursleys looked at me on a regular basis, but he didn't appear to notice. I was somewhat amazed that he didn't get along with Dudley. Will seemed to be just as mean and stupid.  
  
"Being related to the Dursleys does that for you," I said. Well, nearly growled really. The bastard was really starting to get on my nerves.  
  
"Come on, Harry," Lucy said. "We're supposed to be at your place in an hour and a half." Obligingly I opened the back door to the tiny car and climbed in, shifting books and papers off the fake leather seat.  
  
"I'll call you after dinner tonight," Graislaine told Will. "Is the game still on for Thursday?"  
  
"It depends on Ted. His mum won't let him walk on the ankle yet."  
  
"Isn't there anyone you can find?" She didn't sound desperate, just curious.  
  
"Unless your friend Potter's a decent player, everybody else is away."  
  
"Oh, Harry plays," Graislaine said breezily. My eyes bulged and my mind was screaming Plays what? but I didn't have the nerve to tell her the truth. I glanced wildly at Lucy, but she was smiling at Graislaine with an odd look of pride. "I'd asked him before. He plays on his team at school."  
  
"House team, actually," I interrupted. I didn't want these people to think I was any good at whatever game this was. "We don't have a school team."  
  
"See there? He must be all right," Graislaine said happily. Will seemed to puff out angrily, like those cartoon characters in Dudley's telly programmes do right before they explode.  
  
"And if he isn't," Lucy threw in, "at least you'll still have enough people to play."  
  
Will took a deep breath. "Fine," he bit out through clenched teeth. "But you'd better be real decent, Potter. Talk to you later, Grais."  
  
Lucy pulled away from the kerb, and we rode in silence until I worked up the nerve to say something. "Um, what sport is this?" I asked timidly.  
  
Graislaine and Lucy laughed out loud. "Oh, Harry, if Will could heard you say that!" Graislaine said. She laughed again. "I don't think he realises that there are sports other than football."  
  
"Oh. Um, Graislaine, I don't play football."  
  
"That's all right, Harry," Lucy said. "Graislaine didn't play either until she came to Surrey, and she does just fine."  
  
"All you have to do, really, is run up and down the field. Will's a ball hog anyhow," Graislaine added encouragingly.  
  
"He seems like a great guy," I said sarcastically.  
  
"Oh, Will's a good guy. He's just a bit insecure."  
  
"Insecure!" Lucy scoffed. "He must have a wanker the size of a flea to be as insecure as he is."  
  
"Lucy!"  
  
"What, Graislaine? Do you have evidence to the contrary?"  
  
"LUCY!!" Graislaine shouted again, and I had trouble deciding whether to laugh at the idea of Will's...well...yes...and being sick at the notion at a girl like Graislaine had...ew. "You know-ugh, Lucy. You know I've got no romantic interest in Will."  
  
"This is what she does, Harry. She takes poor, unsuspecting blokes like Will, leads them on, and then crushes their hearts to dust. Tragic, really."  
  
"Oh please, Lucy. Will's really a nice person, he's just misguided. I've told him dozens of times that I'm not interested in a relationship with him. He knows that there's-"  
  
"Very little chance in Hell of his getting into your knickers?"  
  
"LUCY!"  
  
"What Graislaine? Oh, sorry Harry. You just have to understand Graislaine. She's terribly forgiving. That Will Taylor is just an arrogant teenager who thinks he's God's Gift to football and women. You know, Graislaine, he even made a pass at me once."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Yes! I laughed him off-"  
  
"Insulted his manhood."  
  
"Graislaine!" Lucy shouted, and she laughed brightly, tossing back her blond hair. Glancing over her shoulder, she said to me, "See, Harry? She's learning!" I smiled and nodded nervously, but secretly I wished that they'd want me around more than they did Will. This was more fun than I'd had all summer. "Uh oh, Grais. I think he's scared."  
  
"Well it stands to reason, Luce. You're downright terrifying."  
  
"Me? You're the one who's all faerie-princess glamorous. I'm amazed the child can carry on a coherent conversation with you." Lucy looked back at me again. "Are you gay?"  
  
"LUCY!!!!" Graislaine shrieked as I shouted "NO!!"  
  
"Honestly, Lucy, you just met him and you're asking him if he prefers men? And don't tell me you were just trying to find out if you can get him, because you're old enough to be his mum."  
  
"You are?" I asked. Lucy looked young, maybe Bill's age or a bit older, but certainly not well into her thirties.  
  
"Ooh, Graislaine, this boy is good! I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm keeping you. Fight me all you want, the Dursleys can't have you back."  
  
"Lucy," Graislaine hissed. I slumped in my seat, wishing it were true. Wishing that I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys.  
  
"What? Are they really- you were serious, Harry?"  
  
"No, no, Lucy. They're fine. Really. They're not the nicest people, but really I'm not there much, and they don't bother me when I am." The look on Lucy's face in the rear view told me she didn't believe me. I didn't believe me either. And my heart, I could feel it beating like the ticking of a clock. That wretched timer was coming back. It had been gone all that while and now it was coming back. "I mean, I just have a lot of chores, is all."  
  
"Don't worry, Harry," Graislaine's blue eyes shone out from the crack between the seat and the door. "You'll hang out with me this summer. We'll have a great time before we both go away again."  
  
Lucy's eyes sparked mischievously. "Not to mention Will'll be furious."  
  
I smiled back at her as the ticking eased.  
  
Reasons Why This Summer Might Not Be That Awful  
  
1. It can't be awful hanging out with someone as beautiful as Graislaine.  
  
2. I've got a job!  
  
3. I'll be out of the Dursleys' for long periods of time.  
  
4. Lucy, Graislaine, and Fauna seem to like me.  
  
5. I won't have to look like a fool running around town like an idiot anymore; now I can look like a fool in front of dozens of other boys and Graislaine to boot. (See "Reasons Why This Summer Might Suck Anyway" list)  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
End notes and Reviewer Messages Quicksilver-Thanks! OC's make me nervous, so it's great to hear I'm doing something right. :)....Undomiel Malfoy- Glad you liked it. Some of the confusion is for affect. I don't want my OC's to introduce themselves, because it feels forced to me. I see you're a Tolkien fan. There's some Quenya fun in the next chapter. No cross over, but a little borrowing of the genius....Greenlily- THANK YOU! It's really great to get reviewed by writers I admire. And your camparisons made me grin for hours. I very much agree with that little coughing fit (don't you love revisionary history? It gives me a warm fuzzy fealing inside...must be nausea). And thank you sooo much for the Niffle!...Salazar Siege-Thanks for reading. I too am all about the 3am fic fest. Some of my finiest moments come in ungodly hours. Although I think my beta wants to kill me for my sleep-deprived typos...Lady Nazgul- Thanks for the review! Don't you worry. There will be Snape happening. :) I haven't written him much yet, but I'm really looking forward to it! Many thanks for your kind compliments...Dhny89- yeah, Lia's an idiot. And there are plenty of secrets she's got, and Bill's not the only one who's hurt by them. Hope you enjoyed the lists this chapter!...Delphia-As promised, and sooner than I expected, there's chapter 4! Enjoy, and thanks for reading!...Annie Fernandez- Here he is!...ADJ- Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! The key to the whole thing (canon) has always been that Harry's a real person, with real feelings and real flaws, and even though this is slightly AU I still wanted that realism, and I wanted to flesh out other characters too. That and I don't trust myself to do one character well enough for everything to carry a story through to the end. And Draco will never be a nice boy...BlackDragon- as always, thanls for reading and reviewing. I hope this is more to your liking. It certainly is to mine!...Caroll- Thanks!...animalcrazy10102- thanks so much! I love your work!... skullfarmer-thanks!  
  
Thanks to everybody who's read and is reading this. This chapter was horribly painful for some odd reason. I'd actually planned it as chapter 3, but it was taking so long that I wrote something else fast to try and ease the wait. And two months later, here's this! Gak. Well, I like this though, and I don't think I've ever worked so hard on a piece of writing that wasn't for school.  
  
Thanks again to Kalar'i Kupua, my beta. She's helped me more than I can possibly tell you with this. Also, my thanks to everybody who helped me fix Graislaine's entrance. You would not believe how bad it was. If you hate it, understand that what you've read is a VAST improvement. If you want to read the ultimate Mary Sue enterance, ask me and I'll send it to you. Just terrible.  
  
Chapter 5 is about a third to half-way done. It's third person! There's Dumbledore! There's Weasleys! A Snape cameo (I think, he's feeling tetchy at the moment)! There's Sirius! There's Remus! There's thieving from virtually every major fantasy work ever! There's (sorta) subtle Shakespeare references!  
  
I'll see you in six months.  
  
Just kidding.  
  
I hope. 


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